


Releasing the Revenant

by Spiner909



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Invasion, Dystopia, Friendship, Gen, Prequel, Realistic, Resistance, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 122,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiner909/pseuds/Spiner909
Summary: "Revenant? I'm pretty sure I'm not dead." "I think it's very fitting. You've returned from what was supposed to be an inescapable prison - and you might be the only person they actually fear. It's time for payback, sir."A story covering the five years leading up to the start of XCOM 2, leading up to and including the Commander's breakout.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A minor disclaimer: the first three chapters of this story are entirely first person perspective. This changes in chapter four, when I start to use both first and third person styles. The reason for this is simple: I hadn't yet practiced writing in third person.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

"So, how did it go today, Selly?"

"Don't call me that, Morgan" I sigh, shifting around in my chair to look at my sister. Morgan makes a show of sipping her soda through her straw and looking away - an act to maintain her innocence.

"It went really well, actually," I say, blowing an errant lock of white hair out of my face. "I scored two eighty seven."

"Wow, really?" She puts her drink down on the small plastic table between us. Morgan then picks up the cheap plastic chair she was sitting on and scoots it closer to me, further under the shade of the umbrella stand. "What did you use?"

"G36," I boast.

"Wow! That's really good!" Morgan leans over and high-fives me. "I still can't get the hang of rifles. The recoil ruins me."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. It didn't take you long to learn how to use a pistol." I take my own soda off the table and take a drink. It's still cold, thankfully - a great relief against the dry heat of Egypt.

...I still can't think of this place as home.

I've lived here longer than any other 'home' I've had, but it just doesn't feel right. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I still can't come up with a good answer. It's not run down - the buildings in and around the sinkhole are actually pretty nice. Some of them even have air conditioning. It isn't dangerous-a secret facility built into an excavated sinkhole surrounded by tall sandstone cliffs, a hundred miles away from the nearest settlement - is about as safe as you can get nowadays.

And it isn't the atmosphere, either. XCOM has been seeing more and more good news lately. Lily proved that restoring the Avenger is more than just a pipe dream when she activated its power core. Last month saw the first successful operations against ADVENT in months, thanks to Mr. Bradford. And off the wake of that, we even got a pretty large batch of new refugees, some of which are already enrolled in combat training.

For once, things are looking up. People here are...hopeful. Some of them are even happy. So why does it all feel so...incomplete?

"Sis?" Morgan's fingers literally snap me out of my mind's wanderings. "You there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. Got lost in thought. What were you saying?"

Morgan frowns. "I was asking if you had already talked to Mr. Bradford about...well, you-know-what," she says, staring at her soda can.

"Yeah, I did. About an hour after sharpshooting practice."

Morgan frowns and says nothing. I can't blame her for being quiet-we've already this conversation and know exactly how we each feel about it.

"I'm sure, Morgan," I assure her. "I want to do this. I _have_ to."

"I know," she says quietly. "But it still makes me sad."

"C'mon," I tease her. "Being sad doesn't suit you. You're everyone's favorite little red-head Optimiser Bunny! I won't let you ruin your image."

She pouts. "I can't believe you complain about 'Selly' when you call me that. Where is that dumb name even from?"

I blink. "I don't know, actually. Some mascot thing from before the war, I think."

I remember seeing some ancient, worn poster on the wall of a grocery store in the slums of Moscow, where we lived before Mr. Mohammed showed up and took us all here. It was advertising some, weird, pink bunny-thing that supposedly could 'keep going forever'. I thought it related to my sister pretty well, since Mr. Bradford called her an 'infinite bundle of energy and optimism'.

"I don't call you that in front of anyone, anyways," I defend myself.

"Neither do I..."

Silence takes over for a minute as neither of us can think of anything to say. Morgan sips her soda quietly while I gulp down the last of mine.

"Have you talked to Lily recently?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Morgan immediately perks up at the mention of her friend and role model. "No, why? Did she show you something cool?"

"Uh, no..."

"Aww..." Morgan pouts again.

"But she _did_ say she discovered something incredible and wants to show it to us later," I smirk.

Her face immediately lights up, resuming the cheerful energy that she normally wears. She whoops and pumps her fist into the air. "Aww, yeah! I bet it's that robot I found last week! Do you think she'll let me name it?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I'm surprised she didn't get it working sooner."

Morgan shakes her head. "She has too much to do on the ship. I think she's working too hard." Morgan frowns, downcast again. "I want to help her, but..."

"But you don't have a lot of time yourself," I finish. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Sis. I really don't think you should try to pick up robotics on top of strategy and your...other training." It probably sounds utterly ridiculous that a fifteen-year old girl like Morgan is training to be an intelligence officer. For anyone else, sure, but we've always known that Morgan is...a little different.

For one, Morgan has always had the ability to stay calm in the face of pressure, even when she has to make tough decisions. And she's proven herself to be a prodigy when it comes to problem solving. Mr. Bradford says she gets it from our Dad. Those two things certainly are very unusual for a girl her age, but not completely unheard of.

The real weirdness comes from her inexplicable ability to understand and affect people's moods. Morgan has always been ridiculously good at understanding what people are feeling - even when she really has no right to. This ability saved Mr. Bradford's life when she was able to 'sense' that one of his 'friends in the resistance' was actually planning on shooting him in the back.

On top of that, Morgan spreads her mood to people around her - literally. Last year, the doctors at camp proved that her emotions are quite literally contagious to people near her. Combine that with the fact that she's a nearly inexhaustible little ball of positivity, and I fully believe the doctors were right when they said that she is one of the most important assets XCOM has. It's still unclear if her powers are in the same vein as the alien's 'psionic abilities', though. Whatever that means.

"Yeah...but, I think we should at least do something nice for her," Morgan says. "It gets so stuffy down there."

"How about we bring her a cold soda?" I shake my can at her. "I just finished mine, and it's starting to get pretty hot out here." Even with light, comfortable clothing, sunglasses, and sunscreen, sitting around outside in the middle of the day is _not_ something you want to do around here.

"Alright." We sit up and gather our empty drinks, heading towards the mess hall built overlooking the northern side of the sinkhole. Conveniently, it lies at the top of the ramp of spiraling earth down to the base of the sinkhole, where the incomplete Avenger lies. Even now, I can see some tired workers relaxing inside the building. Other, fresh workers wearing exoskeleton suits carry impossibly heavy crates with ease down the ramp. More sacrifices of metal and wire for the eternally ravenous ship.

I shake my head and groan internally. 'Eternally ravenous'? Those English lessons are wearing off on me, after all.

"Selena?" Morgan's voice interrupts my noisy mind again.

"What's up?"

"When do you think the Avenger will be done?"

I'm almost tempted to snort, but I don't want to darken Morgan's mood again. "I am _so_ not the person to ask that. But, Lily said it's going to take, like, five years, the way things are going now."

"I hope we can find her the help she keeps asking for. I really want to see it fly one day..."

"Me too."

Well, that's the end of that conversation.

* * *

We arrive at the building and sigh when we enter, relishing the feeling of air conditioning. The mess hall is quiet and mostly empty at the moment - we got here a few minutes before most people change shifts for their noon jobs. I take Morgan's trash and head over to the bins, while she goes to the serving counter. I toss the cans away into the recycler, which closes with a satisfying _cla-chunk_. As I walk back, a familiar face waves to me.

"Hey, kid! Over here a second!" A tough-looking woman with short red hair beckons me over.

"What's up, Sergeant Surge?" Surge is a combat operative. She's tough, and smart, and really cool. Surge isn't her real name though. It's the nickname her squad - Hammer squad - gave her. She says she got the name because of her 'electrifying personality', but I know that the marks on her left arm are, in fact, electrical burns...

She grins. "When did I give you permission to call me that?" she asks jokingly. "Anyway, I saw your performance at the shooting range this morning. That was something else!" She nods to herself. "I'm impressed, kid."

I can't help but flush with pride at being complimented by my role model. "Thanks! You better watch out, though. I'm gonna break your record pretty soon!"

She laughs. "I don't know if I would be embarrassed or proud if I got outscored by a sixteen year old," she muses. "Don't think I'm gonna just give up, though!"

"Wouldn't be any fun if you let me!"

She laughs again and signals me to take a seat at her table, which I do. Surge takes a drink of the beer she was enjoying before looking at me with striking blue eyes.

"I heard what you did after it, too," Surge says, growing serious.

I nod tentatively, unsure of what to say.

"You know what you're getting into, right?"

I hesitate, but nod again with as much confidence as I can manage.

Surge bites her lip and leans back in her chair, rocking on two legs. "Alright. I'm not gonna lecture you. God knows you probably have more motivation to fight than anyone else here. Maybe even the whole world." She leans forward again, putting her chin on her fist and looking off into the distance.

"I've known how to shoot a gun since I was nine," I say quietly. "I can carry fifty pounds for ten miles. I've passed the VR training a dozen times! I _know_ I can handle it." I list off all the things I've worked so hard to accomplish, for the sake of my own confidence as much as for appearing capable to Surge.

"I know, kid," she says, her voice unusually somber. "It just doesn't feel right, having to recruit _teenagers_ to fight a war." She sighs and lifts her head up. Then she rubs her hands together and slaps her hands against the dinner table, drumming the mood out of her.

"Well, looks like your sister's got what she wanted." Surge gestures over to the counter, where Morgan is waving to us, holding a new drink in her free hand. I stand up and scoot my chair in.

"See ya, Surge!" I wave goodbye to her and start to turn towards the exit.

"Hold up. One more thing," Surge says, making me turn back around. I tilt my head questioningly.

She stands up and puts her hands on her hips, smirking at me. "I'll put in a good word for you with Central. I think you've got what it takes, kid, and you can start by smashing my record tomorrow."

I beam at her and salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

I can feel nothing here.

There is nothing to hear. Nothing to see, nothing to smell. I am denied even the feeling of gravity, forced to float weightless in...wherever I am.

No, there is nothing to feel here. All I can do is think.

Think, plot, plan, devise, scheme, strategize... I did all of these things, once.

I used to be able to resist. I felt their intrusions into my consciousness, and sometimes I could even stop them.

There was no greater satisfaction to me than being able to feel their frustration at their lack of progress. They could feel that, of course, which made it all the sweeter. I don't know how long ago that was - time is irrelevant here-but they are the only good experiences I can remember.

Eventually, they grew impatient and became more aggressive. They did something to me. I don't know what it was, but ever since then, I've no longer had free will.

They didn't even have the decency to control me directly. Now, I've got a fucking _machine_ in my head. It does not allow me any agency over what I think. I can think only of whatever it demands of me - and it demanded information. Lots of it.

I can't remember how many times I've had to relive the invasion. I stopped counting after a hundred.

Why did we even bother fighting them? I've seen it from their perspective, now. I know how much strength they had. Our resistance never qualified as a war. It was just a test to them. Our greatest achievements were mild inconveniences to them. I don't know what the point of all this is.

I can't imagine they have anything left to learn from me. Maybe this is all just a form of torture. It very well might be, since I know they won't let me die.

Apparently, they value me enough to not let me die from mental exhaustion. Every so often, they stop the tests and the mental probing. It's the only reason I can even think of any of this now. These are my only chances to think freely. I can't waste them resting...I need to plan my escape. My revenge.

But...

I can't even summon the strength to be angry anymore, let alone to resist them. I'm too tired. If anything, these fleeting moments of consciousness are only making things worse. All I can do is float here - feelings of helplessness and regret passing through me - and wait.

Wait until they take my consciousness again.

Wait for light. Wait for rescue. Wait for death.

Wait for anything at all.


	2. Chapter Two

"Lily! Hey, are you in here?" I have to shout over all the racket. Distant whirring, clanging, and buzzing fills the great, cavernous chamber that houses the Avenger's power core. Dull, grey metal curves and sprouts up towards the ceiling. At the center of the room lies a large, yellow cylinder - glowing faintly. Thick, insulated wires line the walls, all coming down to align into the core. The constant, dim pulses of light seen in the wires gives the appearance that this room is literally the heart of the derelict ship - power flowing through the wires like blood through veins.

"So much work done down here and it still feels like a scrapyard," Selena mutters. She picks up an empty, plastic bottle off one of the room's many worktables and inspects it before tossing it into a trash can. Tools and other spent bottles are scattered across the table, along with some energy bar wrappers. "Well, come on. Let's go look around."

"Okay," I say. There wasn't a lot of trash. That means Lily probably hasn't been down here for very long...maybe we shouldn't bother her. "Do you think we're interrupting her?"

My sister shrugs, crossing her arms above her head. "Nah. Besides, even if we were, we've got a bribe."

I can't help but smile at that. "Heh, yeah. I got her favorite kind too." I hold up the can to Selena, who glances at it. Dr. Pepper - Lily's favorite type of soda. We got a big case of it last month from some cool guy with a mustache. Somehow, it hasn't run out yet - I think it's because most of the people here were more excited about the alcohol mustache guy brought - and I managed to get the last one of today's rations. I don't like it very much, but Lily _loves_ it.

"Oh, look. There she is." My sister points to a figure wearing a welding mask, sat down at a workbench with her back facing to us. It's no wonder she didn't hear us.

"What do you think she's working on?" I ask.

"I dunno. Don't go running up to her, though. Wait for her to stop and then we'll call for her."

"Okay. Good idea."

Conveniently, our chance comes right away when Lily stops to lift up her mask and wipe her brow. I cup my hands to my mouth and yell her name. She turns around and smiles when she recognizes us.

"Yo!" She gets up from her chair and walks towards us. "What's up, squirt?" I lunge forward and hug her around the waist-she's a lot taller than me. Lily ruffles my hair affectionately. "Heya, Selena. How's it going?"

Selena shrugs. "Not much. We're both off today. Morgan wanted to come see the robot again." She snaps her fingers. "Oh, right. We brought you something."

Ah, right! I fetch the can out of my pocket and present it proudly to her. "Ta-da!"

Lily's face instantly lights up. "Aww, thanks, you two!" Her eyes widen when she takes the can from me. "And it's still cold!?" She laughs heartily. "You two are the best!" She immediately pops open the can and takes a drink, sighing in relief. "Ah, man. What a perfect way to celebrate."

That piques my interest. "Celebrate? What happened?" I ask.

She takes another drink before placing one hand on her hip, smiling proudly. "It'd be easier to just show you. C'mon, over here."

Lily walks us over to the table she was working at. On it lies a small, black-colored metal box with...what looks like four helicopter pads attached to it in intermediate directions. There is a variety of camera lenses and glowing things on the front of the box.

I stare at the odd contraption before I realize what I'm looking at. "Oh! It's the robot, right?"

She shoots a finger gun at me with her free hand. "Bingo, squirt. Turns out, it wasn't badly damaged. It was actually pretty easy to fix up. I just finished welding its hover pads back into place when you came in."

"Hover pads?" Selena is intrigued.

Lily grins confidently. "Ready to witness ingenuity at work?" Then, her eyes quickly dart away and she frowns. "Unless I got something wrong and it doesn't work, in which case that would suck." She shakes her head. "Whatever! Probably successful initial test, here we go!" She takes a remote out of her back pocket, points it at the robot, and pressed a button.

Nothing happens.

I don't even need to see Lily's face to feel her disappointment. She bites her lip and sighs. "Well, the Wright brothers didn't get it right the first time, either." Lily starts drinking her sorrows away with the last of her soda.

Selena smirks. "Don't worry about it. You'll get it eventually. But hey, even if you don't...it could make a sweet paperweight."

Lily holds up a finger as she finishes her Dr. Pepper. "Okay, there are three things wrong with that unfunny joke. First, who could possibly use a paperweight that big!?"

Selena snickers at Lily's feigned anger.

"Second, robots have rights too. What you just suggested is akin to slavery. And third, I'll get it working, just you-"

"Hey, wait! Look!" I point at the table, where the robot's central camera lens has just lit up with a faint blue.

Lily and Selena turn around and gasp when the blue glow slowly creeps into the rest of the robot, slowly carving lines as the power spreads out to reach the robot's hover pads. We all watch, spellbound, as the glow slowly increases in intensity and the camera lens suddenly comes to life, spinning around. The hoverpads, now sufficiently charged, begin to hum and vibrate, and the robot unsteadily levitates into the air, hovering like a drunk hummingbird.

"It can fly?!" Selena cries, astounded. Strangely, Lily appears stunned as well.

"Um, well, yeah..." she manages to get out. The robot beeps and bloops, its lens spinning around some more. Then, it begins to stabilize, levitating much more evenly. It lurches forward and zooms past my head, doing a circle around the room. "Huh. And surprisingly well, too."

"That's so cool!" I shout. "You made a flying robot, Lily!"

She smiles and shakes her head. "I just fixed it up. Besides, _you're_ the one who found it." The robot finishes circling around the room and flies back to Lily, bobbing up and down in the air next to her. It beeps and bloops inquisitively.

"Maybe it thinks you're it's mom," Selena suggests. "Like a baby duck."

Lily coos. "Aww. Cute little baby robot-duckling. Do you think I'm your mommy?" Lily reaches out tentatively, holding out her index finger. The robot inches closer, examine her closely. After a few seconds, it decides that it approves, and comes even closer to her. She laughs and looks right at it, eye-to-lens. "Well, aren't you just the cutest little piece of unknowable technology?"

"Wow. It really is like a baby duck," Selena mumbles.

Lily steps back and claps her hands. "Okay. We need to give this little guy a name! Oh, and it needs to stand for something. Any suggestions?"

"Why does it needs to stand for something?" Selena asks, flicking her ponytail with a toss of her head.

"All cool technology needs a colloquial acronym! It's the only way!" Lily huffs.

A brilliant idea strikes me. I raise my hand.

Lily points another finger gun at me. "Whatcha got, squirt?"

"Rover, spelled ROVR!" I say proudly.

"Rover, huh?" Lily rubs her chin, mulling it over. "Not bad. So, what's it stand for?"

They're going to love this.

I take a deep breath. "Remotely Operated Vehicular Robot!"

Lily and Selena just blink at me for a few seconds, before their faces twist up in laughter. Selena bends over and holds her knees, whereas Lily actually falls onto her butt, laughing the whole time.

"Vehicular robot!" Lily manages to gasp in between laughs. Eventually, she gets up, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, man...I needed that!" She leans over and pats me on the shoulder. "I love it. Rover it is!"

Rover seems to like it too, and happily whirs up and down before going off to zoom around in circles again.

* * *

We stayed and chatted with Lily for a while longer. Morgan was really taken with the little flying robot - with ROVR. Thinking about it makes me start to crack up all over again. "God, what a great name..."

"Right? That was brilliant, right?" Morgan turns to grin at me.

"Yeah, it was. I think you made her laugh so hard, it was worth a whole day of relaxing."

"Say, Selly? Why do you think we're being called to Mr. Bradford's office?"

Right...the intercom went off a few minutes after we recovered from our laughing fit, calling Morgan and myself to the Commander's office. Well, to Central's office. Mr. Bradford is really stubborn about that, for some reason. "XCOM will only ever have one commander," he says.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Sis." As I scoot over to pass someone who is walking a bit too slow, I decide to be a little mean and tease her a bit. "Maybe they found out you broke that glass the other day. You're gonna get kicked out of XCOM, Morgan!" I say, feigning mock terror.

"What? No way, it was just a glass..." Morgan's face scrunches up in disbelief. "They wouldn't do that."

"Geez. You can be pretty oblivious for being such a brainiac. I was just joking."

She huffs, unamused. "It wasn't a very good joke."

I shrug. "Well, what can I say. Maybe you fried all my funny circuits by making us laugh so hard. Anyway, we're here."

Central's office is underground, part of a network of tunnels branching out from the sinkhole. It's a pretty extensive network. Morgan and I explored a lot of them when we first got here, but some of them are restricted access, so we don't know them all. This room in particular is pretty unassuming and plain, almost like it was added as an afterthought. I knock on the wooden door.

"Come in," a familiar, deep voice answers. I pull the door open for Morgan, who thanks me and steps inside. When I follow her, I see Mr. Bradford, of course, looking tired and worn-out, as usual. But there's one more person than I expected to be here. Mr. Mohammed, the man that got us out of Russia, and the Intelligence Director for XCOM, is standing next to Mr Bradford, arms folded behind his back. Mr. Mohammed is an Egyptian man with dark skin and darker short hair. I know that he was with XCOM since the very beginning...other than that, I don't know much about him, other than that he smiles a lot, like he always knows something you don't.

"Afternoon, Selena, Morgan." Mr. Bradford's gravelly voice draws my attention back to the man sitting at the big wooden desk in the center of the room. "Appreciate you coming so quickly."

"We were visiting Lily," says Morgan. "So it didn't take us long to get here." Morgan and I take a seat in the two chairs arranged for us.

Mr. Bradford arches an eyebrow. "That so? How's Shen doing down there?"

"She's doing great!" Morgan beams. "She fixed a robot that I found. It can fly, too!"

A faint smile appears on his face, Morgan's magic being one of the few sources that can reliably make Mr. Bradford smile. "A flying robot, huh? We should probably go see that, Karim."

"That sounds very interesting," Mr. Mohammed says with a moderate accent that makes _that_ sound like _sat_. "It must have been quite something to see." I hadn't noticed before, but he's dressed rather casually for someone in such a high-ranking position - a simple white t-shirt and brown shorts. I guess a suit would be pretty stupid in the desert, though.

"It was pretty amazing," I say. "So, what did you need to see us for?"

Mr. Bradford's face goes back to its usual stern self. He pulls a manilla folder out of a drawer, placing it on the desk and pushing it to me. "I got this not too long ago. Sergeant Rellick came to deliver it personally."

Sergeant Rellick? Oh, right. Surge's actual name. Wait, so she immediately went here to vouch for me? Wow...

I open the folder and sure enough, my application to enroll in combat training lies within. I slowly look down the paper, refusing to let my eyes immediately dart to the answer - but there are no marks. I look at the bottom of the form. There's no stamp, either. I haven't been approved or rejected.

Why is he giving this back to me?

Mr. Bradford sighs. "Selena, I...I know perfectly well why you want to do this," he says. "But..."

But what? Is he going to tell me no? Why wouldn't have have stamped the form, then? Did I fill out something wrong? But if that's the case, then why would-

I feel Morgan squeeze my hand. I turn to look at her and she nods at me, silently reassuring me.

"But what?" I ask, trying to prevent my voice from shaking.

He sighs again. "I just...I need to hear it from you. In words. Tell me why I should let you fight."

Okay.

Deep breaths, Selena. You can do this.

"Practically since the day I was born, I've been a part of XCOM. And it's a part of me. My dad was its leader. And I know my mom would have fought right alongside him, if she wasn't pregnant with my sister."

This pride in the parents I've never met...maybe it doesn't have a right to be there. I've never seen my parents outside of a few photographs or the same video I've watched a thousand times. My opinions on them come from heavily biased sources. Even so...

"This isn't just about protecting my little sister, or the friends I've come to make here...although, that's a big part of it. This is something bigger than just me rescuing my parents, although that's another really big part of it."

I stand up and slam my hands down on the desk. Neither man flinches even a tiny bit. "I think what motivates me most of all...is the thought of stomping on those...massive _assholes_ , who invaded our planet, stole my parents, and _ruined_ everything!"

I collapse back into my chair. "I need to fight them. I need to fight for everyone I care about. I _have_ to."

The room is silent for what feels like an eternity. Did I go too far? I can't feel anything from Morgan, even...

Eventually, Mr. Bradford smiles sadly and slightly tilts his head towards his colleague. "What do you think, Karim?"

"She certainly doesn't lack for motivation," he says, lightly smiling. "I think she could do very well."

Mr. Bradford shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. "Alright, Selena," he says, sighing one more time. "I know how stubborn you can be. You win."

I start to flush with elation. Finally, finally, after so much work!

"But..."

I freeze.

He chuckles softly. "There's a condition."

"What condition?" I ask hesitantly.

"You need to get strong. Strong enough to protect me from your parents when they find out I let you do this. Deal?" He stretches his hand out across the desk. I can see Mr. Mohammed doing his best to contain his grin out of the corner of my eye.

"Deal." I grip his hand and shake. "Thank you, Mr. Bradford."

"That's 'Central' to you, now," he chuckles again. "And you may not be thanking me after a few weeks. Basic training isn't a pleasant experience." He gestures for me to pass him the folder, which I do. He takes a stamp out of his drawer and presses down on my file - APPROVED. "You start tomorrow. Be in the training yards at oh-eight-hundred."

I stand and salute. "Yes, sir, Mr. Central, sir!"

He chuckles and waves me off. "Alright, alright. You're free to go, Selena."

"Way to go, Sis!" Morgan high-fives me after we stand up.

"Ah, hold on there, Morgan. We need to talk to you as well, actually," Mr. Mohammed says before we reach the door.

"O-okay," Morgan sits back down.

"What about me?" I ask. "Should I leave?" It wouldn't be the first time they've needed to privately talk to Morgan. Although, there's usually a doctor or two present...

Mr. Bradford looks at his colleague. "Karim?"

"Hmm...she can stay. It makes no difference."

Mr. Bradford nods and I sit back down. Mr. Mohammed unfolds his arms from behind his back and steps forward. "Morgan, I've heard that you want to become an intelligence operative. Is that true?"

"Y-yes, sir. I do."

"I see. Tell me, Morgan, what do you think an intelligence operative does?" Mr. Mohammed's dark brown eyes bore right into her. She needs to choose her answer wisely, here...

"Well..." Morgan straightens her back and takes a deep breath. "An intelligence operative can take many forms. They can be coordinators and analyzers, directing things from a command center. They can be negotiators and diplomats, searching for like-minded people to fight the aliens and gather resources. And they can also be infiltrators and spies, taking dangerous missions undercover. Basically, they are trained to be flexible, and provide vital support to XCOM outside of direct combat."

Mr. Mohammed leans back, easing his gaze. "Well said. That is a mostly accurate summation, yes. So...if you became an operative, which one do you think you would be best at?"

Morgan nods and doesn't hesitate to give her answer. She's already given this a lot of thought. "Well, I'm not definitely not strong enough to be a spy. And I don't know if I would be a very good diplomat, either. I think I'd be best at a role like yours, Mr. Mohammed."

He nods. "I'd disagree about your diplomatic skills, actually. I think you have enormous potential in that regard. Although, given the currently vague understanding of your unusual abilities, I would strongly recommend not risking you in the field. So, yes, I agree that you would be best in a command-and-coordinate role."

He rubs his chin, thinking to himself before nodding again. "Alright, then. You're hired."

Morgan's jaw drops, cool demeanor shattered. "W-what?! Just like that?"

Mr. Mohammed shrugs. "Why not? You have shown very promising results over the last year. I believe you possess your father's talent for this work. And the less paperwork, the better."

"Uh...wow..." Morgan's shock is so palpable , I swear I can feel it tingling on my skin.

"Although, there is one thing we must do now. Central, if you would...?"

Mr. Bradford nods and unlocks a different drawer with a key. He pulls out an unusual-looking tablet computer. "Morgan, we'll need you to scan your retinas into this for us. We'll need to take your fingerprints, too." He carefully sets the device down on the desk and pushes it towards Morgan. She picks it up and holds it up to her face.

Mr. Mohammed steps over to our side of the room, standing behind Morgan. He taps a button on the tablet.

"There will be a quick flash of bright light. As long as you don't blink right away, there's nothing more complicated than that."

"Begin retinal scan," he says. There's a flash of light - not much worse than the flash of a camera, really. "And...finished. It took in a single try, well done." He takes the tablet from Morgan and taps in some commands.

"Now, just align your fingers with this diagram and press lightly." Morgan complies and presses her hand on the tablet. It chimes after a few seconds.

"Very good. Now, if there is nothing else, Central?"

Mr. Bradford shakes his head. "We're done."

"Then I would like to begin training my new recruit immediately. Ms. Retter, please accompany me to the operations center. Unfortunately, your sister cannot join us at this time."

Morgan frowns and looks at me like she's looking for approval.

I wave her off. "It's fine. Go learn to be a cool secret agent." She smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.

Mr. Mohammed smiles amusedly. "She'll be a fine operative in no time. One you can all be proud of."

As the three of us get up to leave the room, I can hear Mr. Bradford mumble to himself quietly.

"I already am..."

* * *

Such a brilliant girl. In the old world, she'd be a freshman or sophomore in a high school - if she didn't skip a few grades.

I must ensure that her talent develops properly.

The operations center is one level below Central's office. Thankfully, we can simply walk through the tunnels and do not need to venture outside into the heat. It does not take long to arrive. At the end of the tunnel lies two large, metal doors. A guard stands to one side of the doors, and a device is attached to the wall on the other. I step forward and look into the scanners, squinting from the flash of light.

The scanner lets out a chime and the doors unlock. The guard salutes me as I enter the operations center. The enormous room is fairly empty today, as there isn't much going on at the moment. A few communications personnel turn to look at me once I enter, some of them waving. Ms. Retter gasps and mutters her amazement when she follows after me. The arrays of computer consoles, enormous monitors, and various machinery must be quite the strange sight to her.

It'll become familiar soon enough.

"Now then, there is one final step before we can begin your training..." I walk over to the main computer terminal and boot up the archives. I hold up the tablet from earlier and connect it to the computer, transferring over the relevant data. My new pupil continues to look around the room, spellbound. When I see the program finishing, I clear my throat.

"Haji."

Ms. Retter lets out a small noise and turns to look at me, perhaps mistaking my command for her.

" **Awaiting orders.** " A metallic, masculine voice echoes from the ceiling. Haji - the operation center's dedicated virtual intelligence - recognizes my voice and prepares to accept new information.

Ms. Retter's jaw drops again.

"Command: new operative recognition. Operative Morgan Retter is hereby authorized security clearance level 1, effective immediately. Confirm."

" **Data uploaded...confirmed. Welcome, Operative Retter. Would you like to select a codename now?** "

"Hmm, I forgot about that." I look at her inquisitively. "Well? Did you already have one in mind?"

"A-a code name? Already?" Goodness, she's fairly easily flustered. Well, I suppose it can be forgiven here. Haji still manages to impress even me.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" she asks. "Or, a _lot_ early for that?" I can't help but chuckle. Her famed abilities must already be starting to affect me.

I can tell I'm going to have a lot of fun training this one.

"Why wait? There's no drawback. And someone else might snatch up your codename if you don't." I pause, considering. "On second thought, I take that back about there being no drawback. Don't start insisting that senior operatives start calling you by your codename. That never goes well..."

"Enigma!" she exclaims suddenly.

I blink. "Enigma what?"

"That's what I want my codename to be. Enigma."

Enigma...a Latin word for a puzzling situation. Also, the encrypting machine used by the Germans in the second world war. Hmm...yes, that name is not yet taken...

"That seems quite fitting," I admit. "Very well then. You may do the honors."

She blinks back at me. "Do the honors?" She tilts her head like a confused puppy.

"I mean, you may command the VI. Simply speak its name in a bold tone. When it acknowledges you, say Command: accept codename - Enigma."

She swallows and nods. She takes a step back, and looks up. "Haji!"

" **Awaiting orders.** "

"Command: accept codename - Enigma!"

" **Data uploading...confirmed. Welcome, Enigma.** "

She practically squeals with delight. "Ah! That's so freaking cool!"

I notice a few other operatives watching her from their positions around the room, smiling and snickering quietly. Some of the newer members seem shocked that I would allow such a young girl into the operations center, let alone make her an agent. Perhaps they still lack understanding of the full severity of our situation.

I turn back to Ms. Retter. She'll certainly have a lot of work to do to prove herself to her new colleagues.

I clear my throat. "I'll have someone explain the full details of Haji and how to utilize him later. For now, follow me."

She snaps into a salute. "Yes, sir!"

I lead her into one of the side terminals, one I was using myself not long ago. I take a seat at one of the many chairs and motion for her to do the same. I turn the monitor back on and consider what I should have her do. I need something low-risk, something relatively easy but still challenging for her...anything to do with combat operations is off the table for now.

I snap my fingers. "Ah, I know." I tap a few commands into the computer console and bring it to life. A map of the local area appears on the monitor. I expand it to cover the all of Egypt and it's neighboring countries. I fetch a stylus from the computer's desk drawer and circle the Sudanese city of Khartoum in black, as well as the location of our base, located between the Egyptian city of Aswan and the Red Sea.

"Let me preface by saying I do not expect an immediate answer." I tap the first circle, pointing to Khartoum. "Here is a hypothetical scenario for you. An important cache of resources has been smuggled into Khartoum by a resistance cell. Nothing within it is perishable - it is all various metals and other things that our base needs." I take another tablet computer out of the desk drawer and begin copying the information she'll need into it.

"There are ten tons of materials to transfer, stored within shipping containers in a derelict warehouse. You may assume that finding and picking up the material will be a trivial task. Transporting it here, however, is a different story."

The data transfer finishes and I hand her the tablet. "Look this over. It contains all the information you are going to need. Exact specifications of the material, the local cell's transportation resources, our own options, ADVENT patrol routes and checkpoints, known zones of air traffic monitoring, etcetera. Your job is to give me your recommendations for the safest routes and methods to transfer the material back to headquarters. I want your answers by oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow morning."

She nods and I continue.

"Now that you have level one security clearance, you may come and go in here as you please, most of the time. In the event that something beyond your clearance is happening here, such as an active combat operation, you will not be permitted access. You are free to discuss this with anyone who has at least level one security clearance, but I expect you to be a good judge of who you share potentially sensitive information with. Understood?"

She salutes confidently. "Yes, sir! I'm eager to begin, sir!"

I nod proudly, folding my arms behind my back. "That's the spirit. Impress me, Enigma. Dismissed."

* * *

Geez...what a day.

Today has been a huge milestone for me. The same goes for Morgan. Finally, we are officially XCOM!

Well, XCOM in training. There's still a long way to go. And then, when we actually start contributing...well, there's a _lot_ to do once that happens. Ugh, I don't even want to think about all that right now.

"Bluuuugh," I collapse into my bed. Tired. Very tired.

I realize I can hear Morgan's voice, even though I didn't see her when I came in.

"Helicopter would be ideal, but I don't think they have any of those...maybe disguising it on a boat...but the port there is heavily monitored, so that would be pretty risky..."

Morgan's voice is muffled...I think she's mumbling from under her sheets. Probably explains why I didn't see her.

"Hey, Optimiser!" I call out.

"Wah!" I hear a thunk. Ooh, she probably hit her head on the ceiling again.

I really should stop doing that.

Morgan peeks her head out over the bunk and looks down at me, rubbing her head. "Oh, hey Sis. I was just...um..."

"What were you mumbling to yourself there? How long have you been in here?"

She frowns and looks away awkwardly. "I got here an hour ago. And...um, I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you what I was doing..."

"What, did you get some secret mission?" I wave away dismissively and flop over onto my face. "It's fine," I groan loudly into my pillow.

"I'll ask if I'm allowed to talk to you about it tomorrow."

"If you want to."

Morgan gets out of bed and descends the ladder back down to me. I see that she's already changed into her pajamas. They are light, colorful things with the XCOM symbol patterned over it. I never learned how these things got made. Do we have a custom tailor?

"I'll turn the lights off, but I can't go to bed yet. I won't talk to myself though anymore, though. Is that okay?"

I flop back over and signal her OK with my fingers. Morgan goes over and flips the light switch near the door, casting the room into a welcoming darkness.

"You seem really tired, Selly."

"I am."

She climbs the latter back up and talks to me from her own bunk. "What'd you do after we split up?"

"I went to the target range and did some more practice. Didn't manage to beat Surge's record, though. Missed it by two points. After that, I just did some more training with the VR. After it cooled down, I went and did some running. Then I took a shower and came here."

"...we've got a lot to do now, huh?"

"Yeah. It's kind of scary...but it's exciting, too. It feels like we can start to really do something. No more running."

The room is silent for several minutes, conversation replaced by the dull beating of the ceiling fan. I can feel myself starting to drift off...

"Selena, do you still believe that we'll get mom and dad back?"

Well, that gets my attention. It's not the first time she's asked me that question...and I've always given her the same answer.

"...yeah. I do."

It's not a lie.

"Do you promise?"

"...I promise."


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Checking in from Chapter Eleven, here! Had to come back to this chapter to rewrite a few details. Nothing major, but I realized that, in the scene where Bradford and Karim were discussing XCOM's overall strategy, I had wrote something that would conflict with future plans (and made XCOM seem a little stronger than they really were).
> 
> Looking back on these earlier chapters, which I wrote half a year ago, I can see things that I want to change, little errors and stylistic things that I've since improved upon. I'll leave them be, though. They're a testament to how I've gotten better as a writer.
> 
> Anyway, disclaimer over, so enjoy!

It was very cold that night.

All the nights in Moscow were cold, but this one especially so.

Two young girls huddle together on a creaky floor holding their hands out to a lit fireplace. A man in his mid-thirties, their guardian, sits in a simple wooden chair near the room's window. The younger sister leans against the elder, drowsiness beginning to take her. The elder sister wants to sleep, too, but she knows she won't be able to. She isn't sure why, but she can tell that something is wrong. It was the way her guardian kept opening the drawn blinds with his fingers to carefully peer through the window. He kept doing it every few minutes, and she couldn't imagine why. Who was going to come visit them?

Their crummy apartment (she refused to call it home) was awful. The door was too small and always let in the cold. The heater didn't work, the power was sporadic at best, the whole place smelled like an old couch, and she kept finding spiders in the bathroom. _She_ didn't want to be there. Why would anyone else want to come here? Not even the scary-looking man who sold them the apartment came by, although she suspects that is the reason why her guardian wanted the place.

"We'll be safe here," he said.

She's not happy about it, but she eventually gives up trying to figure out his reasoning. She figures it won't do her any good to stay up and worry about it. The elder sister gently pushes her yawning sibling off her and gets onto her feet, stretching out. She walks over to their dresser - which is really just a big plastic box - and gets out her warm pajamas, heading off to the bathroom to change.

"There better not be any more spiders in there," she grumbles.

* * *

She was much more comfortable in her warmer outfit. She let out a sigh of contentment and wondered if she wanted to eat something before going to bed. One of the remaining bananas, perhaps - a rare treat.

And then, from the other room, she heard a knock on the door. _Tap tap tap._

Instinctively, she darted back into the bathroom. Why is someone knocking on the door?

"Only me, sis, and Mr. Bradford knock on the door, and we're all here," she thought to herself. Who could it be?

She heard the door open, and then the voice of Mr. Bradford. But...she couldn't understand him. He was talking in a different language.

She heard the voice of an unknown man laugh. It was...creepy. It didn't sound like it was the kind of laugh you made at a funny joke.

Her curiosity beginning to win over her fear, she left the cover of the bathroom door. Slowly creeping along the hallway, one hand brushing flat against the wall, she approached the living room...

The strange man kept talking. She was right, he wasn't happy. She couldn't understand him, but she could tell by how loud he started to get that he must have been very angry.

She could see them, now. The angry man had his back to her, facing Mr. Bradford and gesturing wildly. She could tell that her guardian was getting angry too, judging from the look on his face - and the fact that he was slowly backing up, tilting his body away from the man so that he wouldn't see him move his hand towards the bulge near his back pocket.

The strange man stopped moving and stared at him. Nobody moved an inch.

She could feel her heart pounding. Watching her guardian's face intently, she saw him glance at her for a fraction of a second. He knew she was there.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her younger sister backed up against the wall, quivering in fear.

After what felt like minutes, the strange man shouted and charged. Mr. Bradford managed to pull out his gun, but the man stabbed his arm with a knife that he seemingly pulled from out of thin air. Grunting in pain, he dropped the gun and headbutted the man, causing him to reel back.

But he recovered quickly, charging forward and tackling Mr. Bradford to the ground. He lifted the knife in the air, prepared to strike, but his arm was grabbed and twisted, causing him to yell in pain before slugging Mr. Bradford in the face with his free arm.

As the two men struggled and rolled around on the floor, the elder sister was brought out of her daze by the sound of the gun sliding across the floor. One of the men must have kicked it. Spellbound, she walked towards the pistol lying between her and the fighting men.

The stranger had gained the upper hand over her caretaker and pinned him to the floor, attempting to strangle him.

Her heart was beating faster than it had ever before. There were no thoughts racing through her mind - only feelings of shock, fear, and anger.

She picked up the gun.

She knew what she had to do. He had taught her how to use the gun last year; he wanted her to know how to defend herself.

She took aim, bracing the weapon with both hands, like he had instructed her.

And she fired.

The stranger's head erupted with a spray of dark red, and he immediately slumped over onto the ground.

She killed him. She'd never killed anything with a gun before, let alone a person...

The nausea and panic flooded into her all at once. What was going to happen now? Why did that man attack? Her eyes suddenly felt burning hot, she collapsed to her knees and began to dry heave and sob, the man's blood beginning to pool-

* * *

"Selly! Selly, wake up!"

I awake with a panicked shout. Breathing heavily and damp with sweat, I look around in the darkness. Morgan is out of her bed, standing next to me, eyes wide and full of concern.

"You were having that nightmare again, weren't you?" she asks.

So, it was the Moscow nightmare again. It doesn't happen all that often, but when it does, well...Morgan says it's pretty scary.

"Yeah, I had it again. So what?" I turn away and lie on my side, facing the wall. I don't want her to worry about this. There's nothing she can do about it, anyway.

"You're wrong, you know," she says quietly. "I _can_ do something."

"What could you possibly do to-" I cut myself off as I feel Morgan lift my sheets and climb into my bed. "What are you doing?" I turn to look at her.

"Shush." She pushes my face back towards the wall and slides under the sheets, and then...

She hugs me.

Pulling herself in closer, she squeezes me tightly. "I can do _this._ "

"How...how is a hug going to stop-" My pretense of indifference begins to crack.

"I won't let you!" she cries into my back, squeezing me so hard it hurts. "I won't let you try and take all the responsibility for yourself! It was my fault, too!"

...of course she knows. She's probably always known. We tried to convince her that it wasn't at all her fault, but she never seemed to accept that. I guess we've all been beating ourselves up over that night.

Warm liquid begins to stream down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I thought it was the best big-sisterly thing I could do. I didn't want you to feel guilty."

"I don't need you to be the best big sister. I just need you to be _my_ sister." Morgan untangles herself from me and sits up. I sit up too, leaning against the wall.

We are quiet for a few moments.

"Promise me you'll be honest about stuff like that from now on," she demands, face turning serious.

I chuckle and raise my hands in surrender. "Alright. No more secrets, I promise. But...you have to promise to stop reading my mind."

She giggles and sticks her tongue out at me, feigned seriousness lost. "Doesn't take a mind reader to understand you, Sis. You're pretty easy to read."

I smile and flop onto my back. This time, my sleep is gentle and undisturbed.

* * *

Morgan and I got a few more precious hours of sleep before our seven-o'clock alarm went off. Well versed in quickly preparing ourselves for the day, it took us barely two minutes to get dressed and head off the mess hall.

"We're going to need to eat quickly today," Morgan says, ushering her tray of oatmeal and peaches to an empty table in the bustling room.

"Well, I don't think that will be much of a problem," I say. The oatmeal here is pretty bland - it's best to eat it as quickly as possible. Although, it's very healthy for you, according to the kitchen staff. So there's that.

"I kind of like it, actually."

"Tsk. What did I tell you about reading my mind?"

"I never actually agreed to that," she giggles.

I roll my eyes. Typical Morgan.

We arrive at the table, set down our trays, and begin to eat. People continue to stream in and out of the building, searching for a group to eat with.

In the mess hall, your position here doesn't really matter. Almost everyone in the entire facility comes here for their food. Refugee, officer, recruit, operative, doctor, whatever...everyone's here because they believe in our cause. The atmosphere in this room is positively crackling with energy. I've never felt such _camaraderie_ eating oatmeal.

Morgan is certainly a part of that. I've noticed for a while now that pretty much everyone around here knows her by now. People usually smile, wave, or at least nod when they see her. Frankly, I'm kind of jealous at how effortless it all is for her.

Due to the nature of Morgan's abilities, a few people have made it a point to sit next to her as often as possible, using her energizing aura to serve as their morning kickstarter in the place of coffee.

...such as the familiar woman coming towards us now.

"Mornin', kids!" Surge says, placing down her tray and sitting on my right.

"Hi, Surge," we both say.

I notice that she's tied a black headband bearing the XCOM logo around her short, red hair.

"What's up with the headband today?" I ask.

"I'm glad you asked!" she beams. "It's to honor you becoming a recruit. Congrats!" She slaps me on the back and laughs as another woman approaches our table.

"T-thank you," I sputter, trying not to choke on oatmeal.

"Good morning, girls. It's nice to see you again," a familiar, motherly voice says.

A woman with medium-length brown hair, light skin, and a spectacular tan sits down on my left, smiling warmly.

"Hi, Ms. Emily," Morgan and I say in unison.

"Oh, my. You don't need to call me that here, you know."

Ms. Emily is XCOM's resident (and only) schoolteacher around here. There aren't any other kids around here except us, so she rarely instructs anyone else. She used to be an English teacher in Vancouver, although she teaches us all sorts of things. She's the reason my vocabulary has been growing so elaborate lately, and she's one of the nicest people I've ever met. And, as luck would have it, another member of Hammer squad, serving as its long-range markswoman.

"What should we call you, then?" Morgan asks.

"You can call her what all of us do," a masculine, gruff voice booms. "Chalk!"

A big, burly man with short, ginger hair and impressive sideburns has taken the seat to Morgan's left. By all rights, his hulking frame _should_ be imposing, causing the much smaller Morgan to cower in fear - but we know him much better than that. Thundersaw is a big ol' softy. A big guy with a big heart, and an even bigger gun - he's Hammer squad's heavy gunner. His nickname is self-assigned and is rather literal - thunder SAW. As in, his gun, a Squad Automatic Weapon. Thundersaw was part of an unrelated resistance group in Ireland a few years ago. I don't know the full story, but I know that things went bad, and that he had to flee the country. Eventually, he ended up with XCOM, and has been fighting with Hammer squad for almost three years now.

Surge sighs and rolls her eyes. "You don't have to drop that nickname every ten seconds, Pete. You'll wear it out."

He lets out a _harrumph_. "And let such a perfect nickname go to waste? I don't think so!"

Morgan, unperturbed by the banter, swallows a bite of her peach and turns to our teacher. "I didn't know you had a nickname, Ms. Emily."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Oh, no. It's something new. Peter came up with it a few days ago and is quite proud of it."

"What's the meaning behind it?" I ask.

" _Buona dolore_ ," a man standing to Morgan's right mutters and sighs deeply. Bastoli is an Italian man with somewhat darker skin than the others and has slicked back, short, black hair. I don't know much about him, other than that he is Hammer squad's medic. "You shouldn't have said that, my dear."

Thundersaw booms with laughter. "Why so grumpy, Bastoli? You yourself said it was perfect for her!"

"Even perfection can be worn down, you oaf." Bastoli rolls his eyes and sits down, turning his attention back to his food.

Thundersaw chuckles and turns to my sister. "Well, it's a double-layered nickname, you see. The first part is easy! Em was a schoolteacher, right? And what do schoolteachers use? Chalk!"

How apt.

"And the second part..." Thundersaw starts.

"Is in regards to Em's sky-high killcount," Surge finishes. "As in, _chalk_ up another one."

I rub my chin, contemplating this. Morgan and I share a glance.

"That _is_ a good nickname," I say.

"It's perfect!" my sister blurts out. "It's the perfect name for someone as cool as Ms. Emily!" Thundersaw and Surge burst into guffaws while Bastoli and Ms. Emily smile and try to stifle their chuckling.

"Goodness," Ms. Emily says. "I'm not sure I'm deserving of such praise!"

"Don't let her fool you," Bastoli snorts. "Chalk is as deadly as they come."

Huh. I've known for a while that Ms. Emily was a combat operative. But...I really just cannot at all picture her fighting. I've seen her shoot a gun, but anyone can learn to do that...

"Anyways..." I start. "What are you all doing here?"

"Heh. You saying we're not allowed to come congratulate the new recruit?" Surge smirks.

"Well, it is kind of weird. Shouldn't you congratulate me once I'm done?"

"True, true," Surge admits. "It just felt like the right thing to do, I guess."

I glance at the room's clock. "I have to go pretty soon, actually. I'm supposed to be at the training area at eight."

Surge snaps her fingers. "Ah, right. We came to deliver you a warning, too."

"Ah..." Thundersaw rubs the back of his head. "The poor lass doesn't deserve _her_..."

"Warn me about what? And who don't I deserve?" I'm not following this at all.

"Oh, don't let them try to scare you," says Ms. Emily. "We came to let you know that you're going to be training primarily under Captain Marai. She's a true veteran, you know. She fought against the initial invasion fifteen years ago."

"And she's known for being a rookie crusher," remarks Bastoli. "Well, perhaps rookie _obliterator_."

Ms. Emily's eyes - no, Chalk's eyes, - turn frighteningly sharp and Bastoli quickly withers away, melting back into his seat and mumbling an apology.

Alright, maybe I'm starting to get the picture of Ms. Emily being a soldier!

"Don't be afraid, Selena." She turns back to face me, all traces of her death glare gone. "Captain Marai is not someone to be afraid of. She knows that we cannot afford to be soft on our recruits here. She does everything she can to make sure her rookies come out well prepared for the realities of combat."

"Chalk is someone to be afraid of," Bastoli mutters under his breath, just quiet enough for her not to hear him.

"Eh." Surge shrugs. "She's one tough woman, that's for sure. If there's anyone who can teach you how to be strong, it's her. She's got more combat experience than anyone else in this whole camp."

"If by teach, you mean viciously drill and train into you," Thundersaw chuckles. "I saw her working the last batch of rookies, a few months back. It wasn't pretty."

"Selena knows what she's getting herself into." Ms. Emily defends me with a tone that does not allow for any further discussion.

Surge breaks the lull in conversation by snapping her fingers. "Right, you know, once you pass basic training, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of us."

"How do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, four of the eight members of Hammer are instructors for the more specialized skills. I can pretty much guarantee Bastoli is gonna be the one to teach you first aid."

Bastoli nods. "Probably. Sadly, XCOM is rather starved for trained medical personnel at the moment. Even more so of those willing to go into combat."

"Who are the others? You do rifle marksmanship, right?" Morgan asks.

Surge grins. "Yep! As for the other two, that's Kenji, who teaches demolitions, and Sickle, who does CQC practice."

I tilt my head. "Sickle?"

"Oh, right," Surge says. "That would be the nickname of boss hammer, Arkady Sokolov. By the way, never call him that to his face. He gets pretty pissed at most stereotypical 'Russian jokes'."

Thundersaw shakes his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually goes full-time trainer. He's certainly strict enough for it."

"His ass is hard enough to break rocks on," grumbles Bastoli, stabbing at a peach with his fork.

Surge snorts as she and Thundersaw break out into raucous laughter again. Even Chalk laughs, allowing a soft chuckle to escape her mature poise. Morgan just blinks and looks around, confused.

"What is it? What's the joke?" she asks.

"Tell you when you're older, kiddo," says Surge, wiping tears from her eyes.

"By the way, Morgan," Ms. Emily says, after the others calmed down, "I heard from a friend of mine that you've been accepted as an intelligence operative. Is that true?"

Morgan beams proudly and pounds her fist into her puffed-out chest. "Yep! Just yesterday. It all happened really fast!"

"Hey! Nice going, kid!" Surge leans over to high-five her. "Always knew you were something special."

"The Retter sisters never disappoint, do they?" Bastoli says. "You two are like our mascots."

"Mascots?" Morgan tilts her head. "Like the Energizer Bunny?"

"Energizer Bunny...? Oh, huh. Ain't that a blast from the past," Surge muses, then shakes her head. "Anyway, you two should probably get going, huh?"

I glance at the clock. We've been here longer than I thought! "Yeah, we should." I stand up and gather my trash, Morgan following suit. "It was nice seeing all of you!"

"Good luck, you two!" booms Thundersaw. "Don't get overwhelmed!"

* * *

"Now then, Ms. Retter. Are you ready to report your findings?" Dr. Mohammed asks me after a sip of coffee, leaning further into his office chair.

"Yes, sir!" I salute. "Although...um..."

The man nods at me. "Speak freely, Ms. Retter. What is your concern?"

Dr. Mohammed stills throws me off. He's so far off from what I expected from...well, a general or a spy, I guess? The way he so casually sips his coffee, keeping his other hand tucked in his pocket...geez.

I gulp and give him the conclusion I reached after a long night. "I think this task is beyond my current abilities, sir. I think I did alright with it, but I've never done logistical stuff before, so there was a lot of stuff I didn't understand..."

"Quite right, Ms. Retter. This test _is_ beyond your abilities. That's why I gave it to you. Before you are properly trained and schooled, I wanted to gain an understanding of how you react in the face of a complex, unfamiliar problem. An alien situation, if you will." Dr. Mohammed gives me a wry smile. "Now then. Go ahead."

"Right. Well, at first I jumped to the conclusion that transporting the materials via helicopter would be best...but the local cell doesn't have that capability, so I ruled out the air quickly." He nods and I continue. "If we were to use a land route, any trucks would eventually have to pass through the city of Aswan, which is known to have fairly strict security and checkpoints...we could disguise the cargo and smuggle it through, but it's risky. So, I arrived at the conclusion that the safest route would be by sea."

I gulp again, trying to remember my full speech. Dr. Mohammed puts his cup down on the table, leaning forward to watch me intently. It's kind of unnvering.

"Um...as ADVENT has no naval capabilities whatsoever, and their air surveillance over the Red Sea is slim, I believe it would be best to load the material onto trucks and then transfer it onto boats near the coast. From there it would be smooth sailing to the base."

Dr. Mohammed nods again and stands up, clasping his hands behind his back and turning away from me. If his office wasn't underground, I think he'd be looking out a window.

"Very good, Enigma," he says after a moment, turning to look at me. "I told you to impress me and you have done so."

I guess I got it right!

I can't help but grin with excitement. My first official praise! And he used my codename, too!

His wry smile grows a bit wider. "Your report is reasonably accurate. We can, and do so regularly, smuggle goods through Aswan, although it does pose a risk. The sea is generally preferable. Indeed, the Red Sea is one of our most vital trade routes. Although, you were only partially correct that ADVENT has no naval capabilities. True, the aliens have not bothered to design any advanced naval vehicles, like they have done with their land and air forces. But they are not helpless - they simply force all the governments they absorbed to patrol the water on their behalf, using the fleets they already had."

He sits down and clears his throat. "Now then, with that out of the way...let's go over your new schedule." He pulls a piece of paper out of his desk and scribbles on it for a minute, then pushes it across to me. I take it and look down at it...

0800 - Report to classroom A-2, morning instruction

1200 - Lunch

1230 - Report to Operations Center, afternoon instruction

1700 - Afternoon instruction over. Free time allotted for remainder of day.

I look up at him once I finish reading. "You already know where classroom A-2 is, correct?" he asks.

I nod. That's the room next to the one where Ms. Emily teaches us.

"Good. That schedule is subject to change, of course. There will be times when you will not be allowed into the operations center. In such an event, the guard outside will have received instructions on where to send you. In regards to your evening free time, you may volunteer for more instruction, of course, but it may not always be available."

I nod again and he fetches something out his desk. A pamphlet? No, it's much too big. He pushes it across the desk to me.

"Your copy of the guerilla's handbook. Review this in your spare time. Now, your first class should be starting in about thirty minutes. Thankfully, you won't be alone. There's three other intelligence trainees, I believe."

"Why is that important?" I ask.

"While it isn't quite as vital for intelligence operatives as combat operatives, it builds camaraderie among the trainees who struggle together. The main reason is that, as we are an 'unofficial organization', it's simply inefficient to have to dedicate a valuable officer to train only a single person. That is why we wait for a group to build - the same principle applies to combat trainees."

"What will my first class teach?"

He shrugs. "The very basics. Our philosophy, rules of protocol, the chain of command...how things work around here. While we are rather...informal...it is still crucial that XCOM maintains a strong sense of discipline and loyalty."

Dr. Mohammed stands up again. "Any other questions?" I shake my head. "Then you are dismissed. Good luck, Ms. Retter. We will be seeing each other again quite soon."

* * *

"That appears to be all of them. Ready when you are, Central." A stern and incredibly tough-looking woman salutes me as the last of the recruits-to-be file into the room.

"Thank you, Captain. I won't take long." Captain Ashley Marai...codename Monsoon. A dark-skinned, brunette woman in her late thirties, now. She wears a simple white t-shirt and camouflaged khakis, as well as her original dog tag from some fifteen years ago - proof of her long career in XCOM. If she hadn't joined XCOM, she probably could have ended up as an Army Ranger or even Delta Force. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever asked her why she chose to join the untested, fledgling XCOM...

I push the thoughts out of my mind. There are more pressing matters.

On the surface level of the headquarters lies our training yard. It's not our most impressive facility. Typically, only the most veteran guerrillas are allowed here. Due to the nature of the Avenger, this facility is unable to pack up and evacuate in case of detection. As such, it is of the utmost importance that the location of XCOM headquarters never be compromised. Only the most trustworthy and loyal individuals are allowed knowledge of the area - most of the resistance cell leaders aren't even aware of our location.

However, there are very rarely situations when a group of civilians or unaffiliated resistance members are present. In such a case, like this one today with the evacuees from Cannes, they become members of XCOM - whether they like it or not. If someone were to refuse to cooperate... well, that really only leaves one grisly option. We can't afford to feed prisoners, and we absolutely can't afford to let them go. Thankfully, all of the evacuees from Cannes were more than willing to join us. They were a group that tried to peacefully protest against the aliens - something ADVENT has been increasingly brutal in pacifying lately.

I step forward and use my fingers to whistle loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Captain Marai, the other instructors, the nine evacuees that volunteered for training...and Selena.

...no. I can't think of her like that anymore. She is a trainee as well, now. Favoritism would be a disservice to both her and her parents.

"Listen up, people! My name is John Bradford. As you've heard by now, yes, XCOM was real, and yes, I was one of its leaders. I still am." I make sure to look all of the trainees in the eye. Some of them are clearly nervous...others, angry. I can see the outrage in their eyes. That's good. They're going to need that mental strength to survive their training.

"You're all here because you've learned the truth of ADVENT. Of the aliens that control them. The Elders are not your friends. They are not your benevolent overlords. You're here because you've decided you aren't going to let them have their way anymore."

I clasp my hands behind my back and continue. "In the coming ten weeks, you're going to go through hell. You will scream, cry, and bleed. You're going to question if it's really worth all this pain. But you know what? All you need to do is look to the person next to you to remind yourself of the answer to that question." Several of the trainees glance at each other and nod to reaffirm their confidence.

"Training here will probably be the toughest thing you've ever done in your life. But when you make it through...I guarantee you will be plenty prepared and _more_ than willing to take the fight to the aliens." The trainees let out a cry of determination. Even the stern Captain Marai can't help but crack a tiny smile at their enthusiasm.

I nod. "I look forward to seeing you all at the end of your transformation. Good luck, recruits."

* * *

His speech over, Central leaves the room to oversee other business. It's my turn, then.

"Alright recruits, listen up!" I step forward. "I'm Captain Marai. While you are under my instruction, you will refer to me as Captain. Not 'sir', not 'Captain Marai', _Captain_. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain!" everyone barks.

"Your training begins immediately. In just a moment, you're going to be led to your new barracks - you will be living there with your fellow recruits for the duration of your training. As mentioned earlier, training will take ten weeks, although that doesn't include delays if you can't pass various tests. Get to know your fellow trainees quickly - you will be working _together_ for the entirety of your training."

I slowly pace side to side, looking at each recruit in turn. "After you reach the barracks you'll receive an appropriate set of clothes for physical training, if you don't already have one. We're going to be doing this quickly. I want us to to be starting our first PT session within the hour! After that, we'll break and start discussing the basics of being a soldier. Any questions?"

No hands raised. "Then let's move out. Specialist Ramirez, lead the way." One of my fellow instructors waves the recruits over, who start walking over in single file.

"What did I just say, recruits!?" I shout. "I said we're starting within the hour! Where the hell are you _walking_ to?!"

That makes them pick up the pace. They all scramble outside.

"Heh," I chuckle to myself. "It's fun when you're on this side."

One of my subordinates catches my laughter and cocks his head. "Reminiscing about your own basic training, Captain?"

"Yep. Fort Benning, back in 2012. Good times." I shake my head. "Alright, let's get movin'."

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

Central's office is sorely missing air conditioning.

Then again, I suppose a ceiling fan is probably enough. This room isn't used all that often.

I clear my throat. "Shall I begin the weekly report, Central?"

The man at the big wooden desk nods. "Go ahead, Karim."

"Well, I am quite happy to report that this has been a rather extraordinary week. Nearly everything has gone in our favor, for a change, and morale around camp reflects it."

Central nods. "I'll say. It's been a while since people have been so optimistic."

"Indeed. Naturally, the primary cause of this would be our success at evacuating a decent number of the Cannes protest group. Of the twenty that made it to this facility, nine of them volunteered for combat training and the remainder all have begun to pick up noncombatant and logistic roles around camp."

"The sooner we can get the Avenger airborne, the sooner we can do away with that damned policy," Central sighs.

I click my tongue. "It is despicable, I agree. But it _is_ necessary."

"I know." He waves a hand. "I won't interrupt you again, go ahead."

"The Israeli cell has finally reported success in integrating the automatic weapon loaders we recovered from ADVENT into their arsenals. They will be sending us the schematics within a week." I thumb through my folder, looking for the next file...

"Ah, yes, we've had two other significant achievements this week. First, the cell in Munich has completed their first batch of Stinger Fives. They've only completed three launchers thus far, but have promised over a hundred before the year's end."

"That's spectacular news!" Central leans back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Agreed. The Stinger Five is quite the achievement. We were quite lucky to find Dr. Strunck before ADVENT did. With his new weapon, we actually have a chance of shooting down the smaller ADVENT aircraft."

A mission in Germany a few months ago saw XCOM secure the capabilities of one Doctor Strunck, a military weapon designer who specialized in launcher systems. The Stinger Five is a man-portable, surface-to-air launcher that offered significant improvements on older versions, in terms of projectile damage and velocity. It allows a single soldier on the ground to potentially take out the fast, lightly armored air vehicles employed by ADVENT, like their dropships or interceptors.

The fact that XCOM could soon pose a real threat to ADVENT's air power is a colossal achievement.

"Remind me to ask him if he thinks they have any chance of shooting down a UFO," Central says.

"I believe he theorized that two or three hits could potentially take out a light-scout class. Anything larger is highly unlikely to be seriously damaged."

I clear my throat and continue. "As for our second accomplishment, we've successfully established contact with the Black Eagles, the formerly independent resistance group operating out of Amman, Jordan. Logistical details are included in this file."

I pull out one of the manila folders from my hand and slide it across Central's desk, who nods gratefully. He opens it up and glances at some of the papers inside - he'll read the full report later, I imagine.

Contacting independent resistances and integrating them into XCOM is a dangerous task, but a vital one.

XCOM's power base is largely restricted to the northern and eastern sections of Africa, with a few major resistance havens around the Red and Mediterranean Seas. XCOM is unable to establish a completely safe and reliable means of long-range communication, as resistance havens obviously don't have phone lines or internet cables, and ADVENT can easily trace radio signals. As such, communications have to be relayed through short range exchanges, dead drops, or in some cases, in person.

Resistance cells that were extremely far from the XCOM base in Egypt - like the cell in Dusseldorf, Germany, that was producing Stinger Fives - operated almost completely independently, simply as a way to avoid detection.

"...we are inching closer and closer to India," I say.

"That's also excellent news...things rarely go this well for us," Central mutters.

India is such a massively important strategic goal for us. Not due to any particular key location or resource, but due to the sheer number of people living outside of ADVENT's reach. There are potentially hundreds of _millions_ of people to turn against the aliens living there. It boggles my mind that ADVENT did not prioritize constructing a city center in such a densely populated country. Our intelligence suggests that they are only now beginning to assemble a site in southern India. Why would the aliens wait so long?

A problem for another time.

"Ah, speaking of radios...have you heard of Midnight Liberty?"

Central shakes his head.

"They are a group of dissidents operating in the Egyptian city of Luxor. They operate an illegal radio station during the night, broadcasting messages to the detriment of ADVENT. On top of that, they are notorious for their graffiti and propaganda - they frequently vandalize and spraypaint ADVENT property overnight. Given that the majority of people in Luxor have migrated to City Center Six, the city has become something of a backwater. ADVENT has been content to let them be - but that has recently changed."

"What's happened?"

"Midnight Liberty has recently become more aggressive. Tension in the area is rising, and the frequency and boldness of their vandalism has increased." I pull some photographs out of my folder and place them down on the table so he can see it. "Some of their work is quite striking. It's not hard to see the appeal."

On one photo, there's an outline of an Elder reaching down to press the outline of a human into the ground, with the caption 'The Elders Care Nothing For You!'. Another photo shows an ADVENT flag torn down and burned in front of a masked crowd, the old flag of Egypt flying in its place. And on the last photo, the ADVENT insignia on a checkpoint has been crossed out with a large X, the XCOM insignia spray-painted in blue next to it.

Central nods as he looks over the photographs. "I can't imagine ADVENT letting this kind of behavior go unchecked, even in an area they don't have the strongest control over. They're probably getting ready to crackdown." He puts the photos down and looks back at me. "What do you recommend, Karim?"

I've always appreciated that about Central. He knows how to utilize advisors, to let the experts of a field manage their field. That was a concept my old superiors in the General Intelligence Directorate never seemed to understand.

"I recommend a similar approach as to our evacuation of Cannes. Although, in this case, convincing them to leave their home city will be much more difficult..."

"You think they'll refuse to come with us? That they'll insist on staying and fighting?"

"Possibly. I do not have enough intelligence on their leadership to make that decision. Regardless, whether we chose to assist an open resistance, evacuate, or let them be, we should make personal contact with them, and soon. I believe they could make very worthy assets to XCOM."

"Good enough for me. Let's get to Ops, then, and start putting a team together."

I nod and we both stand up. I've already prepared my recommendations for the composition of the team, of course, remembering to include a diplomat from my intelligence division. But, it's only proper to wait until we reach the ops center, of course...

* * *

Two men are standing on the top of a derelict school building. The shorter man, with light skin and short brown hair, is leaning over the low raise of the school's roof to peer down at the dirt road leading towards the city. The taller man, with very dark skin and a bald head, rests his back against the raise, rummaging around in a backpack. They have no protection from the midday sun, which is glaring down at them mercilessly.

"God damn, is it hot out here," the shorter man mutters, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette.

"That's Sudan for you," the other chuckles and takes a drink from the canteen he fetched from his backpack. "It's good to be home, if only for a little while."

"Khartoum is your hometown? Huh." The man lights his cigarette and takes a drag. "Doesn't seem like it has much going for it."

His companion chuckles again. "Always so negative, Arkady!" He lets out a small sigh, rolling his shoulders. "But yes, it is true. There are not so many people here anymore. Not since the esteemed _Garden City_ was built." He speaks with unusual hostility, as if the very name of the place was venomous.

"All part of my plan to get you to stop being so damn happy all the time, Abdul. Is it working?"

Abdul laughs heartily, his bitterness gone as quickly as it came. "Hah! You'll have to do much better than that, my friend. Besides, I think you should be more concerned with your plan to avoid sunburn!" He smiles and shakes his head. "A man like you, used to the cold rather than the heat...you should have brought more sunscreen!"

Arkady rolls his eyes. "Shut up. We aren't going to be here much longer, anyway - they're almost done."

Abdul adjusts his sunglasses and heads over to the opposite raise of the wall. The school is a square-shaped building, with the center of the school built exposed to the environment to serve as a courtyard where students could mingle. Among the destroyed school desks, scattered bricks, broken bottles and other various debris, several men and women move along the courtyard, packing things into crates and boxes. A few others pick up the boxes and carry them out to the back side of the school, loading them into pickup trucks and other cars.

"What exactly are we picking up this time?" he turns his head to ask Arkady.

"Construction materials and food," he replies disinterestedly. "Say, hand me your binoculars." He gestures Abdul back towards his side of the wall.

"You see something?" Abdul briskly walks over to Arkady's side, zipping his backpack open again.

"Yes. Vehicle dust cloud. Can't make out the vehicle, though." He shelters his eyes with his hands, trying to get a better view. Abdul zips up his pack once he finds the binoculars, and hands them to him.

"What do you see?"

After a few seconds, his comrade swears under his breath in Russian, shoving the binoculars back to him. He dashes over to the side of the wall overlooking the courtyard.

"Shayu! What's our status?" he shouts. Below him, an Asian woman carrying a metal crate full of dehydrated food looks up at him.

"We will be done in about five minutes!" she replies. Several members of the local resistance stop to listen to the sudden commotion.

"Make it two! We've got an ADVENT patrol car inbound!" The lolly-gagging guerrillas scramble into action, dashing all over the courtyard to carry the final crates of material into their waiting trucks.

"Kenji, Shayu, get to the roof!" Arkady barks. He doesn't wait for confirmation before turning back, dashing over to the duffel bags next to Abdul's backpack. As Arkady starts to pull out their weapons, he bites down hard on his cigarette, his face devoid of any panic. Abdul doesn't hesitate either, kneeling over to help assemble their firearms.

"We've used this spot for years," Abdul mutters. "How did they find us?"

"Worry about it later." Finding what he was looking for, Arkady pulls a small black device out of the duffel bag - their encrypted communicator. With the press of a button, he brings it to life, holding it to his mouth. "Command, this is Hammer one-five. Our position has been compromised, we require assistance, over."

A voice crackles through the communicator within seconds. "Roger, Hammer one-five. Transferring you to Central, over."

Another voice comes through. "This is Central. What's your status?"

"We've got an ADVENT patrol car inbound on our position, ETA three minutes. At least two occupants. The objective is nearly complete, we've got about ninety percent of it loaded."

"Understood. If they're only sending a single car at you, then they must not know how many people are in that building. You have permission to engage the enemy, as well as to abandon the remaining material if you must."

"Roger that. I doubt neutralizing one car will be much trouble. Getting away will be the harder part."

The communicator goes silent for a few seconds. Abdul finishes assembling his rifle and loads in his magazine, giving a thumbs up to his squad leader.

"...we're not picking up any major radio traffic. Skies appear to clear, as well. Still, we're dispatching the Skyranger to your area on standby. Electronic warfare teams ready to provide distractions to local garrisons. Keep us posted."

"Roger that. Hammer one-five out." The door to the stairwell bursts open, and two more XCOM operatives dash over, pistols in hand.

"Lock and load, Hammers." Arkady steps back from the duffel bag and hands a rifle to both of his comrades. "We've got some ADVENT to kill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoo! This one took a while to get out as I had to do a good bit of research on relevant topics. Guerrilla warfare, military training, espionage and covert operations, all kinds of stuff. It was pretty fun, to be honest.
> 
> This is also my first time writing in third person perspective. I was a bit hesitant at first, but I think those two scenes turned out alright.
> 
> Also, I need to make a CORRECTION: Surge has red hair, not brown, like I wrote in the first chapter. This has since been edited.
> 
> As always, if you've got questions or feedback, please leave a review or shoot me a PM.
> 
> And finally, I've got to say I am far too proud of myself for coming up with Ms. Emily's nickname. I'm with you, Thundersaw - Chalk is a perfect nickname for her.


	4. Chapter Four

"What's the plan, Sickle?"

The squad leader exhales sharply at the hated nickname. "Plan, feh...what is there to plan? Wait for car to arrive. Let troopers step out of car. Shoot troopers. Leave. Any questions?"

"Never hurts to ask," Abdul laughs, crouching down behind the raise of the school roof. Arkady turns his attention to his other two squad members, Kenji and Shayu. Both of them have finished assembling their assault rifles and are crouched against the raise.

"Alright, stay low and silent until you hear footsteps a few seconds after the doors open. I'll give the signal to open fire." His team nods and everyone settles in, waiting for the patrol car to arrive.

The morning sun begins to transition to noon, and the operatives shuffle around in the uncomfortable heat.

"Question," Kenji says. "What will we do after we kill them? Should we run straight for the trucks?"

"We should loot them," Shayu answers in her usual serious tone. "It's going to take some time to pack up all the trucks, anyway."

"Fine with me," Arkady grumbles. "Just be sure to keep your fingers well away from the triggers. Don't want anyone losing a hand."

"Come to think of it," Abdul chimes. "We should try and get into the trunk. They keep the good stuff back there. Not sure how we could open it, though. There's no keyhole, and the button on the dash is fingerprint sensitive."

"Worry about it after," Arkady says. "They're almost here. Get down, wait for my signal."

* * *

The squad waits silently as the ADVENT patrol car approaches, leaving a small dust cloud behind it. As the vehicle gets closer, the squad can make it out clearly without the binoculars. It is a sleek and spartan thing, concerned with efficiency above all else. Aside from the ADVENT logo, fingerprint scanners, and light armor plating, it isn't much different from a modern civilian car. As the city of Khartoum is hundreds of miles away from the nearest megacity, the aliens maintain only a small garrison to control the local police forces - a fact that XCOM had made the local resistance well aware of.

The car comes to a stop about fifteen feet from the abandoned school's main entrance. The officer behind the wheel hesitates for a moment before giving a gruff order in the alien language. The two trooper subordinates exit the vehicle and unholster their rifles, assuming a passive, watchful stance. After the car doors close, the squad can hear their boots crunch on the gravel path leading towards the school.

" _Slow, cautious steps..._ " Arkady thinks to himself, not daring to risk a glance over the raise. " _They're suspicious. Wait for them to step away from their only source of cover_..."

Silence.

Despite having been in many similar situations, Arkady feels his heartbeat increasing, mentally swearing at himself to remain calm.

The officer below finally says something unintelligble, and the three ADVENT begin to move again.

Crunch, crunch, crunch...wait for it...

Arkady silently turns to his squadmates and holds up three fingers. They all nod at him, and he lowers one finger per second.

_Three. Two. One..._

"Now!" He shouts.

The squad simultaneously lean over the raise and open fire on the exposed ADVENT. The two troopers are killed instantly, their bodies spasming before landing in unnatural positions. The officer's thick, red armor deflects some of the initial bullets, and he grunts in pain. He crouches low to the ground to minimize his profile and starts to rush towards the patrol car, stretching out a hand to open the door.

However, a well-placed burst from Abdul, who was expecting such a move, finds its mark directly into the side of the officer's helmet, killing him instantly. He falls face first into the dirt, hand still outstretched towards the patrol car.

"Alright, Abdul, Kenji, loot them! Shayu, let's go finish loading the trucks!" Arkady barks. The squad acknowledges his command and dash off to complete their mission.

Arkady runs back over to the opposite raise of the roof and shouts down at the courtyard. "Faster! And check your pockets! Leave nothing behind!"

* * *

"I'd say that went pretty well," Abdul says from behind the wheel.

Three large cargo trucks travel north in a convoy along a rough dirt road, speeding out of Khartoum's outskirts. As planned, the other half of the supplies were leaving through a different route towards the coast.

"Too well," Arkady grumbles, shifting around in the passenger seat. "Let's make sure we aren't being followed before we start celebrating."

Arkady pulls a map and a long-range communicator (a glorified walkie talkie, in his words) out of the backpack at his feet. He extends an antenna, pushes down a switch, and begins to speak.

"Command, this is Hammer One-Five. Convoy has successfully split in two, three trucks each on route A and C."

"Roger that, Hammer One-Five," a male voice crackles through. "There are multiple ADVENT patrols active within Khartoum itself, but none of them should be an issue for you. No recon drones in the air. Your only potential problems are roadblocks and searches further up the road, although I'd say that's very unlikely to happen."

"Keep us posted, we'll change our route accordingly. Hammer One-Five out." Arkady puts away the radio and lets out a small sigh of relief.

Abdul chuckles. "Finally ready to admit we're safe?"

Arkady exhales sharply through his nose. "We are never safe. Only safer." He takes a swig of water from his canteen before sighing again. "But, yes, I believe we are free to return home at this point."

"The saying is 'home free'," Abdul corrects.

"Fuck off."

Abdul, well-accustomed to his friend's personality, contently smiles to himself and says nothing.

The two are quiet for a minute. Arkady allows himself a rare moment of relaxation, lowering his guard and simply focusing on the scenery.

" _Dry, flat, and dusty in every direction,_ " he thinks.

Eventually, he shakes himself from his thoughts and increases the air conditioning. "Sudan is too fucking hot."

Abdul laughs heartily at his friend's outburst. "Khartoum is one of the hottest cities in the world, you know. Hardly a day goes by that is below 30 Celsius."

"Fucking deserts," Arkady curses under his breath. "What did you manage to get from the corpses, anyway?"

"Two pistols, two rifles, and a datapad. I actually tried dragging the officer's corpse over to the trunk, see if I could unlock it, right?" Abdul clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Damn thing didn't open. Scanner somehow knew he was dead."

"Must have a heartbeat signal or something," Arkady mutters. The guns were worse than useless as weapons. Not only were they genetically locked, rendering only their assigned operator able to fire them, but they actually _exploded_ if anyone else tried to use them. The datapads were hit or miss. The information in them could be extremely valuable...or completely irrelevant by the time it took to get through their security.

"Think I'll try to catch some sleep. Wake me if there's trouble." Arkady leans his chair back, covering his face with the map.

"Sure," Abdul says. "You're going to need it, you know. We've got new trainees back at base."

Arkady lets out some muffled Russian swearing, to Abdul's great amusement.

* * *

"Alright recruits, you've got ten minutes to eat. Remember, this isn't food anymore, it's fuel. Hop to!" Captain Marai props the canteen door open and the ten trainees eagerly shuffle inside. As she waits to receive her food, Selena presses her thumb against her neck to measure her pulse. It's fast, but strong and steady. She huffs proudly.

"Bring it on, training," she mutters quietly. "This is nothing!"

She takes her tray of food and sits down at an empty table, immediately beginning to eat. She eats quickly, but not so quickly as to risk choking. A few of her fellow trainees chat with each other in French.

" _They're wasting time_ ," Selena thinks. " _They're going to learn that lesson the hungry way._ "

Selena is content to eat in silence as she watches the others vent to each other.

" _So far, all we've had to do is kinda intense exercise. Not exactly the hell I was led to expect. But, then again, I guess most of these guys need the work..._ "

A young woman with short, blonde hair and fair skin approaches the seat next to Selena and gives a nervous, but friendly, smile.

"May I sit here?" she asks with a distinct southern French accent. Selena looks up in between bites and meets her eyes, nodding her consent.

"Sure," she starts. "But you better eat quick. We're already down to five minutes."

"A-ah. Thank you." The French girl sits down. She moves her hands towards her utensils, but hesisitates, looking around blankly as if she forgot something.

Selena watches her curiously while chewing her food.

"I'm..." the girl speaks up. "Ah, I'm...Emilia. Nice to meet you."

"Selena. Four minutes."

She blinks in confusion. "What?"

Selena takes a drink of water.

"Down to four minutes now. Seriously, eat. Don't talk."

"R-right. Thanks." The French girl seems to have gotten over whatever she forgot, and begins to scarf down her food.

Selena finishes with two minutes to spare, and takes the time to stretch and look around the room. She smiles faintly when she sees some of the more talkative trainees begin to panic when they realize how little time they have left. Emilia, mimicking Selena's steady pace, barely manages to finish the last of her food before Captain Marai returns and instructs everyone out. Emilia hurries to Selena's side as they file out the door.

"Thanks for shutting me up," she says. "I don't want to imagine having to train hungry."

Selena shrugs. "No problem. But you better get used to imagining it, though."

"What do you mean?"

"We _will_ be training hungry in a few weeks. Hungry, sleep-deprived, angry...you name it. Hell week, it's called. Better to be prepared for it ahead of time."

"Ah...I see. Thanks again."

Selena shrugs again. "You're welcome, I guess."

Emilia cocks her head. "Say, how do you know all of this anyway? You look younger than even me!"

"Uh...well, let's just say I've had a lot of free time growing up. And an abundance of military reading material..."

"You're pretty interesting," Emilia giggles softly as the trainees head back to the yard for more physical training.

* * *

"One more time, Ms. Retter."

Morgan groans in a mix of boredom and frustration. "How much longer do we have to _do_ this, Doctor? It's always the same..."

The doctor adjusts his glasses and smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry, I know it's very boring. But you know that we have to be thorough."

"Fine," Morgan sighs and violently rolls her eyes, perhaps in the vain hope that the motion might shake off the wires and electrodes connected to her head. The doctor flips the papers on his clipboard to another page and makes some gestures towards one of his colleagues in a lab coat.

The medical lab is a very plain room, square shaped and white-tiled. Morgan sits in a chair in one of the far corners of the room, with several medical machines and devices nearby. The doctor with the clipboard stands up from his own chair and helps his colleague draw a partition, dividing the room in half. One of the doctors goes behind the partition, out from Morgan's line of sight. The others take up positions on their computers and medical devices. Eventually, one of them nods at the clipboard doctor, who takes his seat again and faces Morgan.

"Are you ready, Ms. Retter?"

Morgan didn't understand why she had to do this so many times. It was trivial for her. What was it even accomplishing?

"Uh huh..." she says unenthusiastically.

"Very good, let's begin. There is one person on the other side of the partition. He will make himself feel a different emotion every question. What is he feeling now?"

"Anger," Morgan replies instantly.

The doctor nods and makes a mark on his clipboard. "And now?"

"Happiness."

"Once more..."

"Anger again."

"Three for three, Ms. Retter. Well done."

Morgan rolls her eyes again. "Gee, it was _really_ hard, Doc. Do I get a lollipop?"

Being stuck in the medical lab with all sorts of things on her head was one of the few activities that could instantly sour Morgan's usual cheer.

"Hah..." the doctor laughs apologetically. "Yes, I know you hate this. That's why I would like to do some more difficult tests today."

Morgan perks up at that.

"Like what?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Effectively the same thing, but with more complex questions than general emotional states."

"Okay."

The doctor nods gratefully. "Thank you. Hopefully this can teach us where the limits lie. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The doctor readjusts himself in his chair and clears his throat. "There is one person across the partition. In their head, they are picturing a scene vibrant with a single color. What color is it?"

"I don't know."

"Nothing comes to mind? Try and focus, please."

Morgan shuts her eyes, concentrating deeply. For several seconds, the only sound in the room is the quiet hum of the machinery.

She shakes her head and opens her eyes. "Nope. Nothing."

The doctor frowns and makes some marks on his clipboard. "Alright. On to the next question. The person in the next room is repeating the _word_ of a particular color in their head. Which color are they thinking of?"

"Doctor, I can't-"

"Please, just try, Ms. Retter."

Morgan sighs exasperatedly and shuts her eyes again, falling silent. The doctor makes some more notes.

The lab machines continue to hum quietly.

One of the lab personnel coughs.

Morgan bites her lip and furrows her eyebrows.

...

Nothing happens.

Morgan opens her eyes and folds her arms. "Nope. Nothing. I keep telling you guys, it doesn't _work_ like that."

"Alright," the doctor says. "We can stop testing this one regularly."

Morgan's face lights up. "Really?!"

"But," the doctor says, "we will still test it once a month. Perhaps your abilities will advance on their own as you get older."

"Bleh." Morgan blows a raspberry. "Fine. Are we done?"

"One more test, I'm afraid. But this one should be feasible, at least."

The doctor turns to two of his assistants. "Peters, Rodriguez, take up the positions that we discussed." Two men in labcoats nod and move behind the partition.

"Ready, Ms. Retter?"

"Ready."

"Very good. There are three people behind the partition. One of them is thinking happy thoughts, one of them angry thoughts, and one of them sad thoughts. Which one is closest to you?"

"Ah! Um..." Morgan closes her eyes and furrows her brow, appearing genuinely challenged by the question.

One of the assistants adjusts some dials on one of the machine readouts.

"Uh...hmm. The angry person is closest. And the sad person is the farthest away."

"I see. Are you sure?"

Morgan hesitates for a second, but nods.

"Very good," the doctor smiles gently. "That's exactly correct. Could you tell me how many meters away the angry person is?"

"Um...I dunno, maybe five?"

"And the sad person?"

"At least ten."

The doctor nods. "Correct on both counts. Angry was four, sad was twelve. I have to say, I'm quite impressed."

The doctor stands up and begins stripping the wires and electrodes from Morgan's head, to her great relief. Once the last one falls off, she springs out of the chair and stretches gratefully.

"Freedom!" As she's balancing on one foot, an idea strikes her, and she cocks her head curiously.

"Hey, Doc."

"Yes, Ms. Retter?" the doctor addresses her curiously while reviewing his clipboard notes.

"I was wondering...could I come up with the next test idea?"

The doctor blinks in surprise. "I don't see why not. What did you have in mind?"

Morgan rubs her chin with one hand while scratching her back with the other.

"I want to see...I want to practice telling lying people from truthful people. Wait, no...that would be pretty hard to test. Naturally, I mean, cause it's pretty hard to lie naturally when you're doing it for an experiment. That's more like...stating an incorrect fact. No emotion involved, you know? Oh! What about-"

The doctor smiles and pats her on the shoulder. "Take some time to think about it. Let me know if you come up with something. Now, I think we've taken up enough of your afternoon. Let's plan to test again same time next week, alright?"

" 'Kay. Sorry for being a grump, doc. See ya!"

The doctor waves politely as Morgan skips out of the doorway.

* * *

John Bradford sits alone in his office, having just finished browsing the latest batch of construction progress reports. Shen was claiming that she managed to restore the ship's power core to about thirty percent capacity, allowing them to open the doors to the other rooms on that level. Apparently, the other rooms are a catastrophic mess, so filled with dangerous debris that traversing the rooms by foot is impossible. It would take the current workforce several months to fully clear it all away, possibly more than a year. However, Lily noted that a great deal of the debris was composed of the ultra-valuable alien alloy, so it was far more than simple junk.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Bradford mutters as he files away the last papers into his desk.

* _tap tap tap*_

Three sharp knocks at the door draw his attention.

"Come in."

Karim opens the door and strides in, a sense of urgency dominating his normally laid back appearance. He sits opposite Bradford and pulls out his tablet computer.

"I just ended a call with a contact in Midnight Liberty. You recall who they are, yes?"

Bradford nods. "The dissidents in Luxor. Mostly grafitti and propaganda. What's happened?"

"The tension in the air has finally ignited," Karim sighs. "ADVENT launched an assault on their illegal radio tower very early this morning."

Bradford grimaces. "I take it things went poorly..."

"At least a dozen dead. The radio tower is irreparably damaged, and there are multiple civilian casualties."

Karim puts the tablet down, leaning backwards to run a hand through his hair. "People are up in arms, understandably. The entire city is on the verge of rioting."

Bradford leans forward, clasping his hands together. "And given that ADVENT's presence in Luxor is relatively weak, I imagine they're calling in reinforcements from Garden City."

Karim nods. "Correct. Meaning, our window to safely make contact with Midnight Liberty has shortened rather considerably."

"Do we have any information on what ADVENT will be sending?"

"Not currently, but I can't imagine them sending anything less than two full platoons. And I'm quite certain they'll have _some_ measure of air presence."

Bradford remains in motionless contemplation for a few moments. Karim takes the opportunity to tap and swipe at something on his tablet.

"Alright," Bradford says, clearing his throat. "Here's what I'm thinking. People willing to openly resist ADVENT at this point are too valuable to pass up. We send the team we planned yesterday ahead now via Skyranger. They get dropped off at a friendly outpost, drive into the city, and make contact with Midnight Liberty. Ideally, they'll be able to convince them to leave in a matter of hours. It's going to be a hell of a tough sales pitch, though. I highly doubt there will be time to evacuate every single family there."

Bradford trails off, clearly unhappy with the prospect of having to split up families. "Anyway. Meanwhile..."

"Meanwhile, we prepare an extraction team to meet them at said outpost. Yes?"

Bradford nods, not bothered by the interruption. "You read my mind. It'll be too dangerous for the Skyranger to be near the city, so land is going to be the only way out of there. Not like it could pickup an entire resistance group worth of people anyway."

Karim stands up and nods confidently. "We have a consensus. Give the command."

Bradford reaches over to the corner of his desk, where the intercom lies. He holds down the tiny red button, and speaks.

"Attention all personnel, this is Central. We are entering Code Blue, repeat, Code Blue. All active members of squads River, Hammer, and Delta, report to the briefing room immediately. Specialist Black, report to the Operations Center. All others, standby."

Bradford releases the button and stands. He turns to Karim who has already gathered his things and is waiting at the door.

"Let's go."

* * *

"Hey, Selena. What does Code Blue mean?"

Selena, lying face down on her barracks bunk bed, tilts half of her head towards Emilia.

" 's the third highest level of alert. Means there's an urgent mission."

"Oh." Emilia sits down on her corner bunk, adjacent to Selena's bed. She idly stretches her legs over the side as she talks with her new friend. "Do you know what's going on?"

Selena groans and pushes herself up, moving to a cross-legged position. "Nope. We'll probably find out eventually. Maybe my sister can tell me."

Emilia cocks her head. "Your sister is here?"

Selena smiles faintly. "Yep. She's a year younger than me. She's really smart, so she might know what's going on."

Emilia smiles as well. "She sounds nice. I hope I can meet her sometime."

"I'm sure we'll get a chance eventually. Do you have any siblings, Emilia?"

She shakes her head. "I'm an only child. I was studying in Cannes when...well, when I got swept up into the protests."

"I heard some of the fighters talking about that. They said it was pretty awful." Selena bites her lip and frowns. "Sorry."

"It's al-" Emilia cuts herself off and looks at her feet. It takes her a few seconds before she resumes speaking. "Well, no, it's not alright, but it's no fault of yours. You don't need to apologize."

"Thank you, though," she adds softly.

"It sounds like you-" Selena stops herself, mentally cursing herself for her insensitivity. "Sorry. Nevermind."

"It's alright. What did you want to ask?"

Cheeks slightly flushing, Selena looks at her friend's face for confirmation. Emilia nods and gives a sad smile.

" _She knows exactly what I'm going to ask,_ " Selena thinks.

Clearing her throat, Selena says, "It sounds like you lost someone important to you."

Emilia manages to maintain her sad, resigned smile. "I was with my Papa on the day of the riot. All I know for certain is that he was shot."

Emilia's smile fades, and her fists slowly clench. "He wasn't killed by the bullet, at least. I...I was right next to him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Everything happened too quickly. He collapsed, and the crowd swallowed him up. I-I tried to go back to him, but...you just _can't_ go against a crowd of that size. I was just sort of...pushed along, until someone eventually grabbed me and pulled me onto the weird plane."

A deeply uncomfortable silence permeates the air between the two. One of the other trainees in the room, pretending not to listen, shifts over on their bed.

Selena leans back against the wall, pulling her knees into her chest. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's...well...I'm just trying not to think about it. But, I'm glad that you were here to listen. This..." Emilia looks away awkwardly. "This really isn't something I would want to deal with alone."

Emilia stares down at her feet again.

" _She's doing her best, but...she looks really unhappy,_ " Selena thinks. " _I wish there was something I could do._ "

And then, she remembers. " _Of course! I'll just do what Morgan always does._ "

Selena scoots herself off her bunk and moves to sit next to the surprised Emilia, pulling her in for a tight hug.

* * *

" _This room sure is lonely without sis here,_ " Morgan thinks as she closes the door to her room.

"Hum hum, let's see," she begins saying aloud. "Brushed my teeth. Got my 'jammies. Alarm is set. Umm...what am I missing?"

She snaps her fingers after a moment. "Ah! Right. Need to charge my tablet." Morgan fetches the tablet out of her backpack and plugs it into the charger mounted on the wall socket.

Still energetic, Morgan sits down on her bed cross-legged, turning to look at her sister's empty bed.

"Well, today was pretty boring, Selly's Bed. I think most students are supposed to be happy when class gets cancelled...but I was really looking forward to it, you know?"

Morgan sighs and tucks her knees to her chest, gently rocking herself back and forth. "Oh well. There's more important things going on."

She tries to think of something to occupy her mind until she grows drowsy, but nothing comes. For several minutes, she simply lays there, waiting for...something.

She groans in frustration and flops onto her back, spreading out across the bed.

"Stupid brain."

" _It's not like Selly and I do anything but sleep in here but...man, this place is so boring without her,_ " Morgan thinks.

A faintly blinking light in the corner of her eye catches her attention. She turns to look at the tablet computer lying on the small table between the beds.

"The orange light means it's charging," Morgan says aloud, desperate to break the oppressive silence in the room. She continues in her best impression of Lily, waggling a finger as if lecturing an invisible audience.

"The base mostly draws power from solar chargers, so any nonessential power is much slower at night...it'll still be fully charged by morning, though."

She glances at the tablet again. With the Code Blue having interfered with her education today, Morgan doesn't have any current tasks.

"Oh, why not. Let's see what else you've got on you, tablet."

_"I'll have to go find a new book tomorrow."_

Morgan takes the tablet and leans back onto her bed, careful to not overstretch the charging cord. She taps at some folder icons.

"Training files? Already looked at all those. General information...logistics...what? Huh. The map is blank. I guess most of that is above my security level."

Morgan navigates the various training files for about twenty minutes before sighing in annoyance. Her mind feels no less tired than before, and most of this stuff looks pretty boring. Hardly paying attention to where she's looking, she begins to seriously debate reading the forklift operation manual for 'fun'.

"Hm? Wait, what's this? Misc files?"

" _Please, please be something interesting..._ " she silently prays.

The folder contains only a single video file. The thumbnail simply reads "05/09/16".

"Wow, this thing is fifteen years old? It's in pretty amazing shape..."

She presses play, and the video briefly buffers before switching to fullscreen view. Morgan flips the tablet horizontally as the video begins to play.

She can't see anything but a dark, blurry mess.

_"Is it broken...? Seriously, tablet?"_

"You need some help, dear?" asks an amused male voice.

_"It has audio, at least."_

The voice of a woman, very close to the camera, excitedly replies. "Aha! There, got it!"

The blurry mess turned out to be the woman's hand. As she steps back, the picture comes into focus.

The man and woman are standing in a plain, rectangular room. The walls are made of steel, or concrete, or something. There's a simple wooden table in the center of the room, with colorful plates full of food. There's two chairs for the man and woman as well as one...weird chair. And...a red balloon?

The woman is rather tall and has long, red hair. The woman is wearing an ugly green sweater and blue jeans. " _She's really beautiful,_ " Morgan thinks. " _Except for that sweater. Maybe it was cold."_

The woman puts her hands on her hips and poses proudly. "See? I told you I'd get it working!" she teases jokingly.

The man on the opposite end of the room has his back turned to the camera, and is gently swaying side to side. He's wearing a type of jacket Morgan has never seen before, a very long one that goes down to his legs. It has the XCOM logo, the crossed lines with the stars, on it. The only other thing she can tell about him is that he has silvery-white hair, short and messy.

...

_"...these people. They can't possibly..."_

"N-no...no way, i-it can't be..." Morgan's fingers began to tremble as much as her voice. The tablet drops out of her hands, landing on the bed with a soft thud. She immediately hunches over to get a better view, unable to peel her eyes away for even a second.

Then, the man turns around to smile at the woman.

In an instant, her deepest hopes are realized.

She knows who these people are. She knows who the infant he was softly rocking in his arms is. And she knows why her parents look so tired.

The Ninth of May, 2016, was her sister's first birthday.

And just one week before the original XCOM headquarters was destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while back, someone asked me if I would add the characters in this story into a shareable character pool. Sure!
> 
> If you're interested in this, or just want to see an album of what the characters look like in game, head to the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom) and search for 'Revenant'. You should find a post there. Or, you could just PM me for a link. Mild spoiler warning in that Selena and Morgan will show up as their fully grown, adult selves, four and a half years from the current story.
> 
> I think they're all pretty close representations of what I envision (except Morgan's haircut).
> 
> Here's an imgur album if you just want to see what they look like: imgur/a/3UG51.com


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarification on names and nicknames, since I haven't elaborated on them fully.
> 
> 'Surge' Real name Elizabeth, most call her Liz
> 
> 'Thundersaw' Real name Peter, everyone says Pete
> 
> 'Chalk' Real name Emily, sometimes called Em
> 
> 'Bastoli' Real name Niccolo, sometimes called Nick or Nicky. By the way, his nickname is a portmanteau of 'bastard' and 'ravioli'.

**Operation: Free Liberty**

**March 5, 2032 - 09:52**

**Objective: Recruitment and evacuation of independent resistance cell 'Midnight Liberty'**

**Area of Operation: Luxor, Egypt**

**Mission Status - In progress**

* * *

The Skyranger's engines roar to life as it takes off, kicking up a miniature duststorm around it. Surge waves at the unique aircraft as it angles south and zooms off back to XCOM headquarters. A rather pointless gesture, she knows, but she likes to do it anyway.

Surge adjusts the heavy duffel bag on her shoulder as she takes in her surroundings. It's not her first trip to Karrick Outpost, far from it, but she always manages to be silently impressed by the layout of the outpost. Karrick lies nestled in between a group of hills an hour's drive away from the nearest highway. It isn't the largest outpost, being so close to headquarters, but it's relatively clean and well supplied. Sporting several large tents, structures of hardened clay and cement, a well of clean groundwater, and even its own landing pad, Karrick is a true oasis in the surrounding desert...

"... _this advertisement paid for by the XCOM tourism bureau,_ " Surge thinks, rolling her eyes.

A hearty clap on the shoulder makes Surge jump a little, which makes Thundersaw snort in amusement.

"Easy there, 'Liz. You sure you're calm enough to lead this mission?" he teases.

"Fuck off, Pete. I'm fine." Surge answers.

Bastoli snickers at the exchange, while Chalk rolls her eyes.

"You're making us look bad in front of Specialist Black," she chides.

The stranger to the group, a light-skinned man wearing a tan safari outfit and Aviator sunglasses, waves her off.

"Pshaw, just call me Damien. And I've heard much worse, trust me," he chuckles.

The rest of the group is also dressed casually, as they need to smuggle all of their equipment through a security checkpoint. In absence of their usual uniforms, they wear light, flexible clothing with lots of pockets.

" _Feels kinda weird going on a mission dressed like this. Then again, not like Kevlar vests do all that much against mag guns..._ " Surge thinks.

Bastoli snorts. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be called Indiana? Or perhaps 'Mr. Crocodile Hunter'?"

Damien laughs and runs a hand through his jet-black hair. "Function over form, my friend. Truth be told, I don't handle the heat too well, so I kinda need this getup."

"And here I thought diplomats were all supposed to dress to impress," Surge says.

"Perhaps they'll appreciate his pragmatism," Chalk says, politely covering her laughter. Her eyes briefly dart off to the side, and she immediately composes herself. "We have company."

A group of three men, each armed with a holstered pistol or rifle, approach the five operatives. One man waves at them, beckoning them over.

"Welcome back, my friends!" the man says, moving in closer to shake their hands. "I wish we would stop meeting in such urgent situations. I still owe you many drinks!"

"Nice to see ya again, Josef!" booms Thundersaw, clapping his favorite drinking buddy on the back. "You know we would stay for a while if we could."

Surge nods and steps closer. "We'd better get straight to business. Lives are on the line."

Josef cracks a sad smile. "Business as usual, then." Josef shakes his head to clear away the melancholy thoughts, and then claps his hands together. "We just finished preparing everything. Two vehicles - one car, one truck. These two fellows..."

Josef gestures to each man at his side, who both nod at the assembled operatives. "...will be your local attachments. They'll drive you into the city, get you to where you need to go. Now, as to your weapons and supplies..."

Surge and Thundersaw both shrug a stuffed duffel bag off their shoulders, gently depositing them at Josef's feet.

"Five pistols, three rifles, one compact sniper. One medical kit, three flashes, three smokes, and some C4," Surge says.

Josef nods, and the two other men pick them up, carrying them off towards the outpost's buildings.

"Sorry to deprive you of all your favorite toys, but that's going to have to be it. The vehicles have limited space for contraband," Josef apologizes.

"You said there was a truck?" Bastoli asks. "Is it all going in there?"

"Quiet the opposite, actually," Josef corrects. "The truck is a decoy of sorts. Ali - your driver - is a food merchant, you see. His truck is already loaded with crates, so they'll almost certainly stop and search it thoroughly. After going through all that inspection, they'll be less likely to fully inspect the car, which will hide most of the equipment."

"Can you really fit that much material into one car?" Damien asks.

Thundersaw laughs heartily. "Oh, you've no idea how good of a smuggler Josef is. We'll be just fine."

Josef grins at the compliment. "All goes well, we will see you back here in a week, with a hundred new friends!"

Bastoli smirks. "Even sooner, if Professor Jones here is as good as they say."

Damien puts his hands behind his head, chuckling. "I should've brought my hat and whip."

Surge rolls her eyes. "Let's save the jokes for when we're in the cars, people. Let's go."

* * *

The mess hall quietly bustles around Captain Marai and her friends. She has to stifle a yawn, having woken up before even the sun had risen.

"You look tired, Cap'n Nami," one of her friends across the cafeteria table says. "New kids wearing you out?"

"Don't you give me that 'Cap'n Nami' shit," she scoffs.

Captain Marai was well known for her ire at being addressed by the wrong name, be it by her trainees or otherwise. Among her long-standing friends, she only accepted her nickname, Nami.

"Haven't had to get up this early in a while," Nami says, balancing her chin on her fist. "But that's a secret the rookies don't get to learn. They've gotta think that we're some kind of tireless demons."

Nami leans back, stretching out her arms. The mess hall is almost entirely empty, save for a few intelligence offers on early-morning shift, herself, and her fellow instructors. She cups her hands together and shouts towards the kitchen. "Hey, Abby! Coffee done yet?!"

A woman wearing an apron glares out from behind the kitchen counter. "I just put it on a minute ago, you freakin' addict!". Nami grumbles and settles back onto the cafeteria bench.

One of her fellow instructors laughs at her. "You remind me of my mother. Always needed her coffee before going to work."

Nami rolls her eyes. "My dad wouldn't even talk to me or my brother until he got his. Maybe the dependency runs in the family." Nami sighs and readjusts herself on the bench. "I guess being a drill instructor is kind of like being a parent."

Nami cracks a tired smile. "A loud, abusive parent."

Her fellows snort and laugh with her.

" _They love to complain about it,"_ Nami thinks. " _But the truth is that they love this job, same as me."_

Nami notices the far canteen door opening out of her peripheral vision. She glances over, curious to see who else would be up so early. A redheaded girl strides in, clearly uninterested in breakfast. Nami's tired brain doesn't register that the girl is beelining straight for her table until she's nearly right in front of her.

" _Is that Morgan...? The hell is she doing up this early?_ "

Morgan closes the distance quickly, arriving at Nami's table and saluting, earning herself a half-dozen puzzled looks. Panting, she attempts to address Nami.

"Good...good morning, Captain Ma...Captain Marai, ma'am! I was...phew..."

"Easy there, girl, where's the fire? Catch your breath. And stop saluting," Nami says, raising an eyebrow.

Morgan bends over, placing her hands on her legs to catch her breath. "Thank you," she pants gratefully. After a few moments, her breathing steadies, and she stands up straight.

Nami swivels her legs over the bench to face Morgan directly. "So, you need something from me? Why are you up this early? Even your sister is still asleep."

Morgan nods. "That's why I'm here, um...Captain?"

Nami nods, signaling her acceptance.

"That's why I'm here, Captain, because I need to ask you for a really big favor!"

Nami blinks. "Uh...okay...what do you need?"

Morgan's fists clench in anticipation, and she unleashes a veritable flurry of a request.

"I need to see my sister! Not for very long, just for a few minutes before breakfast, because I was up all night last night and I didn't sleep at all because I found something really important, and she really needs to see it, and I know you're not supposed to interrupt the training schedule of recruits or give one special treatment, because it's important to build camaraderie as a team of equals, but I think that-"

"Woah, woah! Stop." Nami reels back, putting up her hands in surrender. She could literally _feel_ Morgan's frantic desperation.

" _Must be those 'contagious emotions' of hers,_ " Nami thinks.

Morgan's eyes shoot wide with fear, and her pang of anxiety is so strong that everyone at the table simultaneously cringes.

Nami shakes her head to dissuade her. "I barely understood that, but what I'm getting is you need to go see your sister. Right?"

"Y-yes, Captain."

Nami shrugs casually. "Sure. It's not like you're prohibited from seeing her. You know where the trainee barracks is?"

Morgan's face lights up with relief and she nods firmly. Nami isn't sure if her own sense of relief is the result of Morgan's contagion, or if that she is simply glad she didn't have to crush the girl's hopes.

"You can go show her whatever you need to. Don't take forever, and don't wake anyone else up, got it?"

Morgan salutes enthusiastically. "Yes, Captain! Thank you, Captain!" She dashes off for the exit before Nami can even blink.

"And stop saluting me!" Nami shouts as Morgan speeds away.

Swiveling her lags back under the table, Nami notices that her fellows all sport an amused smile.

"What?" Nami grumbles defensively. "All you assholes think I have a heart of stone, I swear! Like any of you could turn her down."

Everyone laughs as one of the cooks brings out a tray full of several cups of coffee. Nami takes a cup, but looks at it gingerly without taking a drink.

"Hell, I hardly feel like I need it anymore," Nami snorts. "That girl is something else."

* * *

"Okay, let's go over this one more time," Surge says into her earpiece.

"Ali, who owns the truck, is a food merchant who regularly delivers to Luxor. Damien and Em are playing the part of possible business partners, who are tagging along with him to discuss things. Nick, Pete, and myself are all hired help to load and unload the vehicles. Once we get through security, we'll park near the market at a parking garage, and regroup. "

From the back seat of the car, Surge readjusts her earpiece communicator and continues explaining.

"Ali is a regular, and our driver, Omar, is one of his employees. The crates in the truck are all actually full of food, so this will look like a totally legitimate business run. On top of that, Ali has a history of regularly employing foreigners as his part-time help, so we shouldn't be especially out of place. So all things considered, this is a very normal looking business trip. No reason to be suspicious of us. Everyone got that?"

From the passenger seat of the car, Damien turns around and gives her a thumbs up. Sitting next to her, Bastoli nods in confirmation, while Thundersaw and Chalk vocalize their confirmations through their own earpieces.

"Alright, good. Everyone remember to put on your best 'bored and uninterested' face once we get to the checkpoint. Until then...enjoy the scenery." Surge, Damien, and Bastoli all take off their earpieces, tucking them away for safekeeping.

Bastoli cocks his head towards Omar, the driver. "Is Luxor especially scenic?"

"The ruins and architecture around here attract a lot of tourists," Omar explains. "The Valley of the Kings is a popular attraction, lot of people like to see the tombs. Not so much since ADVENT moved in, but foreigners are not an uncommon sight around here."

"Oh, huh. You know, I think my father took me to see some ruins in Egypt when I was little. Not sure where, though, I barely remember it," Bastoli says.

"Sounds like a weird place to take a little kid," Damien says, head tilted towards the backseat.

Bastoli shrugs. "Yeah, well, my father was a weird man."

That catches Surge's attention. "You don't talk about your parents very much."

"There's a reason for that," Bastoli sighs. "They're both sympathizers. Completely brainwashed. Nothing I can do about it either, since trying to contact them would be a colossal security risk."

Surge grimaces, biting her lip. "Damn...sorry."

Bastoli shrugs again, his face calm. "No need. I'm not bothered by it anymore. Nothing I can do, so I just don't think about it."

Surge cracks a wry smile. "I'm jealous. I have a hard time letting go of stuff like that."

Bastoli snorts. "The occasional hard drink helps, too."

As the laughter in the car dies down, Surge finds herself silently thanking Nick's dry wit for keeping the tension down.

* * *

A gentle tugging sensation on my arms drags me out of wonderful sleep and into the awful world of drowsiness.

"Gra...mmph," I mumble, flailing one arm uselessly at my would-be awakener.

Wait, shit. Did I oversleep? The mild rush of panic jolts me awake, and I sit up, eyes wide. Wait, everyone's still asleep. Oh, Morgan's here.

"What are you doing here!?" I hiss. "You're going to get me in trouble!"

Morgan puts a finger to her mouth, shushing me. "I got permission!" she whispers, beckoning me out of bed. "Now follow me, there's something you gotta see right now!"

Leaning forward, I muffle a groan into my arms. Reluctantly, I lean out of bed and throw on my shoes and a jacket.

"This had better be good..."

Morgan quietly walks over to the door outside, careful not to create noise. I don't think it's especially needed. Everyone's too tired to be woken up by something as quiet as footsteps.

I cover a yawn with a hand as I step outside into the chilly morning air, the sun just now beginning to crest over the hills. Morgan catches the door handle before it can swing closed, shutting it silently.

"God, it's not even 5:30 yet. What's so important that you had to wake me up? You never get up this early."

I blink the drowsiness away and take a closer look at my sister's face. She looks...completely awake, but also really tired. There are circles under her eyes, which look red and dry.

"Did you even sleep?"

She shakes her head and sits down, propping her back against the wall of the barracks, a ways away from the door. She motions for me to sit next to her and moves to pull something out of her backpack.

I guess whatever she wants to show me is in there.

...

Ugh, no shit, brain.

"So, what is it..." I yawn again. Morgan pulls a tablet computer out of her backpack. The same one I saw her with two nights ago, I think. Didn't she get it for her assignments? Why do I need to see it?

Morgan taps a few commands on it and passes the tablet to me.

"Watch this," she says, voice unusually serious.

I'm quite good at feeling my sister's emotional vibes, but this is...weird. I can hardly read anything from her.

A video begins to play, but it's really dark and blurry. I look at Morgan in annoyance.

She's gives me a look of such intense concentration that it's kind of jarring. I turn back to the video, stifling another yawn.

" _Do you need some help, dear?_ " asks a man's voice.

" _Aha! There, I got it!_ " a woman's voice says. The video shakes, and the dark blurriness is revealed to be the woman's hand. She steps back and strikes a confident pose. " _See? I told you I'd get it working!_ "

"Where _are_ these people?" I wonder aloud. "It looks like they're in a bunker, or something. And what's with the balloons?"

The man turns around, revealing the infant he was rocking in his arms. He laughs gently, smiling down at the baby.

" _You sure did. I cede this one to you._ " He looks up and glances at the woman. " _You want to switch?_ "

She smiles and nods. The man walks over and gently passes the baby to her.

...

Place that looks like a concrete bunker...

Woman with red hair.

Man with white hair.

Balloons...

...and a baby.

I shiver as something deep in my subconscious clicks in realization, but my drowsy mind is still struggling to connect all the pieces.

"Morgan, who...who..." I start to ask, but my brain finally catches up. "Are...are they...?"

The man folds his arms, content to watch the woman rock the baby. I tear myself away from the video to look at Morgan's face.

"It's Mom and Dad," she croaks, tears beginning to erode her composure. "And you," she adds, sniffling.

I realize that it wasn't the cold that was making me shiver.

Voices draw my attention back to the screen.

" _Aww, who's got a smart mommy who knows how to fix computers? You do, silly girl!_ " The woman tickles the baby-

Err...tickles me...who coos happily.

The man - or, um...Dad...chuckles. " _Maybe we should edit this out. The whole point of this is so we can embarrass_ _ **her**_ _twenty years from now, not us._ "

" _Mm. Probably. Do you want to do an intro, then?_ "

" _Alright. Let's see..._ " Dad clears his throat and turns to wave at the camera. " _Hey there, Selena! Happy first birthday!_ "

I swallow a lump in my throat. I can't believe this is real...

" _I'm not sure when it is that you'll be watching this...maybe we're trying to embarrass you for your eighteenth birthday, or maybe you're even getting married. I don't know how things are going to end up...but I do know that you're our daughter, and that I'm sure you'll be a fine young woman to be proud of. No matter what._ "

Dad gives the one of the most genuine, confident smiles I've ever seen, and nods at Mom, who speaks up.

" _And if you're watching this with your sister..._ " Mom's smile falters a little, as if she was searching for the right words.

" _...you remember to watch out for each other, no matter what. And you'd better be grateful, because we're really going to dial up the embarrassment factor for her first birthday!_ "

Dad rolls his eyes and steps over, pulling his wife closer with one arm. " _What she means to say is, we love you._ "

The video goes on for about five more minutes. Mom and Dad had a little cake for the baby...I mean, for me...who ate it in several messy little spoonfuls. They sang a happy birthday song, and proceeded to make more embarrassing comments and jokes.

I wasn't sure when I started crying, but the video ended shortly after a few tears dropped onto the tablet.

"Wh...where...h-how...?" I sniffle, unable to form a proper sentence. Morgan scoots closer, pulling my head down into her shoulder. She hugs me tightly from the side.

"Last night," she says. "I found it randomly on the tablet. I don't know why it's there, or how, but...it is. It's really them." Morgan's voice is more stable than mine, but not by much. No doubt she stayed up all night because of this...and rushed over to show me as soon as possible.

...how very like her.

Unable to hold back any longer, my sniffles turn to open sobs as I bury my face in my sister's shoulder.

* * *

Omar cocks his head towards the back seat and speaks up.

"We are approaching the security gate. Do your best to look uninteresting."

Bastoli and Surge share a quick glance, and nod at each other. Surge resigns herself to putting her chin on her fist, looking disinterestedly out the window. Keeping her anxiety down with the force of will, she swallows a lump in her throat.

The car slows to a halt as the sand and dirt of the desert give way to the asphalt and pavement of Luxor. In front of them, the truck has already stopped in front of the security gate. While the security measures are currently inactive, it would clearly be impassable for any normal vehicle if activated. Thick, concrete barriers on either side narrow the road, forcing all incoming traffic through a single lane. A simple booth, constructed of metal, sits at the entrance of the checkpoint. Further down the checkpoint, a suspicious yellow line lies in wait.

" _Tire traps,_ " Surge realizes. If given a signal from the control booth, a row of sharp spikes would jet out from the yellow line, slashing the tires of any vehicle that tried to break through. No, there was no way to brute force a vehicle through a checkpoint like this. Nothing short of a tank, anyway.

Surge couldn't stop herself from swallowing again. She silently prayed that Josef's smuggling techniques were as good as Pete claimed.

Someone in light-tan armor stepped out of the control booth. Initially confused, Surge was unable to determine the soldier's rank until she noticed the distinctive officer's helmet and shoulder-scarf.

" _So they wear brown, instead of red, in Luxor? I should ask about the importance of that later..._ "

Another ADVENT, this one in the familiar black armor of a grunt, followed the officer. While the officer had only a holstered pistol, the grunt had a magnetic assault rifle slung over it's chest. Having previously been an American soldier, Surge was no stranger to military checkpoints.

But smuggling yourself through an enemy's checkpoint, seeing their weapons, the wriggling anxiety in the back of your mind that threatened to worm free if not constantly watched...

Calling it 'highly unpleasant' would be a bit of an understatement.

The officer stopped in front of the driver's side of the truck and made a beckoning gesture. Surge saw Ali stick his arm out the window, presenting some kind of badge. The officer took it, inspected it for a few seconds, and handed it back. The officer said something, but the car was too far away to hear whatever it was. The driver and passenger doors opened, and Ali, Thundersaw, and Chalk all exited the truck.

The officer gave them a curious look, but did not pat them down, instead poking their head inside the cabin of the truck. After a few seconds, they pulled out, and started moving to the back of the truck.

Watching intently from the back of the car, Surge darted her eyes away so as not to make eye contact with the approaching officer.

"Easy," Bastoli muttered, sensing her tension. "They're fine."

She didn't look at him, but Surge took a deep, long breath, and nodded. When she looked again, the officer had opened the truck's back and climbed inside. The officer took the lid off of two or three crates, briefly rummaging through their contents. Ali had come around to the back to watch the officer, while Chalk and Thundersaw waited nonchalantly by the wall. Chalk had even pulled out her phone, thumbing at it idly.

"Goddamn, that woman has nerves of steel," Surge mutters aloud.

"I can hardly believe she was just a schoolteacher," Bastoli quietly agrees.

The officer turns around, nods at Ali, at hops out of the truck. Ali says something and closes the back of the truck. Chalk and Thundersaw climb back inside, Ali following shortly after. The officer waves them through, and the truck slowly rumbles forward. The officer turns their head towards the car, and Omar slowly drives it forward, stopping once the officer puts up a fist.

" _In theory, if we did have to run away, could we...nope. There's a truck behind us now. Great._ "

...

" _God damn it, brain, shut the fuck up! This is not the time!_ "

Omar rolls down the window. The officer steps over and leans down.

"Present your identification," she says coldly, with an unplaceable accent.

" _Ah, so it's a she._ _Fuck, it's so weird hearing these fuckers speak English._ "

Omar pulls a badge and a stocky piece of paper out of his glove compartment, presenting it to the officer. The officer takes it and stares at it intently for a few seconds.

" _How do you assholes even see out of those stupid fucking helmets?_ "

The officer's hand holding the badge and paper lowers, but doesn't return to Omar. The officer looks suspiciously at the three obvious foreigners.

"Who are they?" the officer points.

"Part timers," Omar shrugs. "My boss likes to hire foreigners. 'They all have a story to tell,' he says."

The officer looks away, considering.

Bastoli covers up a slightly exaggerated yawn. The officer stares at Bastoli, who conveniently avoids eye contact.

" _I'm sure she'd be giving you a death glare if they didn't have freaky bug-eyes._ "

The officer hands the badge and paper back to Omar.

"Attend to your business quickly," she says. "Luxor is not the safest place to be at the moment."

Omar nods and thanks the officer. Surge lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

" _It's about to get a whole lot less safe once we're done here._ "

* * *

"How far from here to our destination?" Chalk asks, tucking a pistol into her belt.

"Not very far. A ten minute walk." answers Omar, shutting the trunk of the car. The sound echoes throughout the desolate parking garage.

Chalk looks around. A few meters away, the other members of her squad are all gathered around the truck, removing their equipment from the various smuggling hidey-holes. Elizabeth and Damien quietly converse while Peter and Nick inspect the contents of the duffel bags. There is not a single other car on this level of the parking garage. The level below had only a scant few, beat-up junkers.

"Has this place always been this deserted?" She asks Omar.

Omar shrugs. "Luxor isn't the jewel it used to be. People have been leaving in droves, headed either for Garden City or Cairo. The ones that stay...well, there are three types of people that stay. The foolish, the poor, and the stubborn."

Chalk cocks her head. "That's an interesting perspective. Could you elaborate?"

Omar gives a wry smile. "You seem to be quite the learned woman. Unfortunately, people like you - the wise - have all long since left this slum. As for your question...'the poor' is self explanatory. They cannot afford to live in Garden City...or to even move there. The stubborn are simple as well. They hate change, and Garden City brings nothing but. The fools, however..."

Omar gives a dry laugh. "There are many types of fools. The gullible and naive, those who are taken in by whispers of a better life under ADVENT. The oblivious, who see nothing wrong and have no reason to leave. And us, the brave, but stupid, who come here to fight."

Chalk frowns. "Do you think what we are doing is pointless?"

Omar shakes his head. "We are fools for fighting such a superior foe. But to know the truth, and not fight, would be a _far_ greater folly."

"Ah, I see. Thank you, Omar, for explaining to me." Chalk gives a polite smile.

"Nice to be listened to, for a change," Omar chuckles. He notices Ali waving at him behind Chalk's shoulder. "Looks like the others are ready. Let's be going."

Chalk nods and rejoins the group.

* * *

The team travels through the city in groups of two to avoid undue suspicion. While Omar leads Chalk, Surge, and Bastoli directly to Midnight Liberty's base, Ali opted to take the long way around, leading Damien and Thundersaw through the marketplace.

"I've never seen the souk so uneasy before," Ali mutters, squeezing past a pair of bickering merchants.

The market is sparsely populated. The few people that are around interact with each other suspiciously and coldly, casting unfriendly stares at the group. Even the merchants seem unenthused, shouting their wares with palpable indifference.

"This place looks ready to break into a fight," Damien quietly says to the others. "Keep your weapons hidden, walk briskly, don't make eye contact."

A man holding a chicken mumbles something in Arabic as he passes by Thundersaw. He ignores it, along with his venomous glance.

"Reminds me of home. These people have the same faces...afraid n' angry," Thundersaw says to Damien.

Damien walks a little closer so he can converse quietly. "Oh yeah? Where's home?"

"Cork."

Damien smiles a little. "Ireland, huh? Nice. Always wanted to visit."

Thundersaw grimaces, unintentionally scaring a few passersby out of his path. "I wouldn't recommend it at this time of the year. Island has a serious _vermin_ infestation."

"So I've heard..."

The two awkwardly walk in silence for a minute. Damien narrowly avoids a bucketful of dirty water, casting a dirty look at the woman who dumped it out of her window. Largely concealed by a niqab, her expression is impossible to discern. She closes the window without a word.

"Say, come to think of it..." Thundersaw says. "What's your codename?"

Damien rolls his eyes, in a rare display of annoyance. "Ironically, it's Waterfall."

Thundersaw snorts and laughs, drawing the irritated gazes of several market-browsers. "How'd you earn that one?"

Damien sighs. "It's pretty stupid..."

"They usually are."

Damien cracks a smile. "Short story shortened, at one point, on a mission that will remain unnamed, I drove a boat off a waterfall. I was the only one on it...but the evacuation team saw it all. The boat perished in action, sad to say."

Damien snorts in amusement. "Well, at least it wasn't _my_ boat."

Thundersaw laughs. "What are you, some kind of secret agent? You sure do look like one."

"Thank you!" Damien says exasperatedly. "See, that's what so many people don't get. A secret agent dresses for his environment. People are always like, where's your tuxedo, huh? Nobody gets it. Damn!"

Damien clears his throat. "Sorry. Touchy subject."

Thundersaw raises an eyebrow. "You seemed fine when Bastoli was cracking jokes earlier."

"Eh, well..." Damien shrugs. "Have to make a good first impression. Wouldn't be a very good negotiator if I couldn't, would I?"

"Can't argue with that."

Ali suddenly stops in front of them. "We're here," he says, looking up at an ugly, two-story building made of concrete.

"Wait here while I go let them know you're with me."

* * *

Ali walks up to the doorway of the building and knocks on its heavy wooden door four times. Someone opens it a crack to see who it is. Ali nods at them and gives a greeting in Arabic. A passphrase, maybe. Satisfied, the person opens the door fully, waving Damien and Thundersaw over. The two follow Ali into the building.

The door leads into a small, dimly lit room. The room is perfectly squared, with a narrow hallway leading deeper into the building. The interior is sparsely decorated, containing only a single, fold-able table, and a few plastic chairs. The concrete walls and ceiling further enhance the utilitarian atmosphere of the room. Omar, Chalk, Surge, and Bastoli are already inside, leaning against the wall.

The man who opened the door for them steps back inside. His face is concealed by a black turban and scarf. He briefly glances at the two new XCOM operatives, his eyes tentative, but not hostile.

He turns and nods at Ali. "I will go let him know that everyone is here now."

Ali thanks him and takes a seat on one of the chairs, sighing tiredly. "The atmosphere of this city is worse than I expected."

"It's downright oppressive," Omar says, slumping down against the wall into a sitting position. "Luxor is doomed if recent events continue."

Damien clears his throat dramatically. "How 'bout we save that kind of talk for later?"

"My nephew is correct, unfortunately," the voice of an elderly man says. A man wearing a light-brown kaftan robe appears from the hallway, flanked by two other men wearing the same black turban and scarf combination as the man from before. Each of his escorts has a holstered pistol at their sides.

" _Marhabaan, khal,_ " Omar greets the elderly man with a wave, continuing to remain seated. "I will try to restrain my pessimism, Uncle."

The robed man smiles gently and nods. Ali stands up and turns around, bowing to the XCOM operatives. "My new friends, allow me to introduce one of my very old friends. This is Mr. Mohammed Aboud...the leader of our little _tamarudd_."

"You can just call me Mohammed," the old man says, offering a kind smile.

Damien looks to Surge, who nods her approval. Damien steps forward and bows his head slightly. He steps back, stands up straight, and nods confidently.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mohammed. My name is Damien - I'm...well, I suppose I'm an ambassador for XCOM. These..." Damien turns around and points at the four soldiers in turn. "Are combat operatives Rellick, Aquacorde, White, and McCarthy."

Thundersaw grins and crosses his arms above his head. "Glorified bodyguards, in other words."

Mohammed and his escorts chuckle at the joke. Mohammed steps forward and shakes the hand of each XCOM operative.

"A genuine pleasure to finally meet members of XCOM. I'd offer you each a drink, but what little I do know of XCOM gives me the impression that you would prefer to go straight to business."

Damien nods, his expression grim. "Unfortunately so. On the trip here, I received new intelligence that makes the situation here even more dire. Do you have a planning area?"

The operatives perk up at that. This 'new intelligence' is news to them.

"Of course. If you'll follow me..." Mohammed and his escorts turn around and start back down the hallway.

Damien begins to follow him, but turns around before leaving. "You'd better come, Surge, you'll need to see this." She nods and looks at the other operatives, but they all shake their heads and stay put.

* * *

Damien and Surge are led through a surprisingly labyrinthine ground floor until they reach the stairs to the basement.

"This place is built like a medieval castle," Damien comments. "All these hallways and chokepoints give the defenders an easy time holding off an assault."

Surge nods, having noticed it as well. "Did Midnight Liberty construct this building?"

"It was a gift, actually," Mohammed explains. "From a wealthy sympathizer. We simply remodeled the ground floor a bit."

Mohammed leads them down the basement stairs, which creak in protest. The basement is a square room made almost entirely out of concrete, like the entrance room, but is much larger and has better lighting. A large, circular table with several chairs around it dominates the center of the room. Maps, papers, and manilla folders are spread out across it. The sides of the room are filled with bookshelves, filing cabinets, and a dozen or so computer stations. About two dozen men and women mill about the room, carrying files around and tending to various tasks.

"Not a bad setup," Damien says, having seen his fair share of resistance bases. "I was under the impression that the radio tower was your base."

Mohammed smiles sadly. "If that were the case, it would have been rather inconvenient to hold a meeting like this in a smoking ruin. Come, have a seat at the table, and let us talk." One of Mohammed's escorts dashes ahead to pull out a chair for him, who thanks him gratefully. Surge and Damien step forward and take a seat around the war table. Damien pulls out a tablet computer from his backpack, placing it onto the table.

"Allow me to get right to the point. You, of course, already know that ADVENT is sending reinforcements from Garden City. Like us, I imagine you expected them to send two or three platoons - around ninety soldiers - to suppress the violence in the city. Am I correct?"

Mohammed nods. "You are. I take it that is not the case, then..."

Damien grimaces and shakes his head. "ADVENT _is_ sending three standard platoons, as expected, but they've added a fourth one. Not an ordinary one, either. Take a look at this." Damien taps a few commands on his tablet, powering it up and handing it over to Mohammed.

Mohammed brings to tablet closer for a better look. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?"

Damien gets up and moves next to Mohammed, so he can point out the important details.

"An informant took these pictures only a few hours ago. The shot is partially obscured the chainlink fence, but you can see here...is a platoon's worth of soldiers." Damien points to a mass of troopers in black armor, a few red officers mingled in between. The fifteen soldiers are standing in formation in what appears to be a military base.

"Yes..." Mohammed frowns and nods, failing to see the significance.

Damien straightens back and puts his hands on his hips. "Right, nothing special about that. But swipe to the next picture."

The next picture is of the same base, but at a higher elevation that avoids the chainlink fence blocking the shot. Several partrol cars are visible in this shot, headlights active, apparently driving towards the base exit off-camera. A few troopers can be see filing into a bulky, black vehicle with six huge wheels - an Armored Personnel Carrier.

"These platoons left early this morning. They'll arrive extremely soon, if they haven't already. But that's not why you're looking at this picture. Look here, in the hangar-like building. See that?" Damien taps on the screen.

Mohammed frowns and looks closer. "It's difficult to make out...but I see several white figures on the back of that truck. What are they?"

Damien thumbs a few commands on his cellphone and brings up a different picture. "Here's a picture from a parade in St. Petersburg a week ago. Recognize the white shapes?" Several lines of ADVENT soldiers march in front a crowd in the picture. Two mechanical figures of white steel, bipedal and vaguely humanoid, are clearly visible at the front of the marching formation.

Mohammed's face darkens in realization. "Yes. These are the 'White Knights'...the robotic soldiers designed to 'protect' us. Yes?"

Damien passes his phone to Surge so she can have a look. "Correct. We do not have much data yet, but we believe these White Knights to be extremely dangerous. XCOM command strongly believes that the ADVENT force being sent here is not meant to merely suppress and intimidate your group into hiding. They intend to actively hunt for you. With such a significant force searching for you in the city, there are three options present to you."

"I believe I know where this is going," Mohammed says grimly. Several of the Midnight Liberty members have paused their tasks, listening to the conversation intently.

"First, if Midnight Liberty continues to openly resist, you will be swiftly crushed. I'm afraid it's that simple, you lack the firepower and resources to combat ADVENT mechanized divisions. Second, if you go into hiding, you will slowly, but eventually, be whittled down. A few members lost at a time, a few safehouses less every month, until they eventually torture someone enough to reveal this base. Even if you disbanded, and cut off all contact from other members, someone who knows your name is eventually going to talk."

Mohammed grimaces, but does not dispute the point.

"And the third option," Damien continues. "Is to leave. Leave, and join XCOM."

The room grows very quiet. Almost everyone has stopped to focus on Damien. Aware of the attention, Damien takes a few steps back, spreading out his arms to address his audience.

"I'm sure you all have already heard this, so I'll keep the sales pitch short. You will not defeat ADVENT alone. You won't even be able to save your city alone. I can't - and won't - promise that XCOM will immediately help you fight for Luxor, because in all honesty, we can't."

Hushed murmurs spread throughout the room.

"Not even XCOM is strong enough to openly resist them," Damien says, shaking his head. "In truth, it could be as long as a decade before we can fight them, and who knows how far they'll advance by then."

The murmurs intensify.

_Did he really just say that?_

_Is he trying to recruit us or make us hopeless?_

Damien puts his hands behind his back, and raises his voice. "But what I _can_ promise you, is that we _will_ fight them. We will harass them at every opportunity, strike where they are weak, avoid where they are strong. Joining us isn't going to stop them from ruining your home. But I have _complete_ faith in XCOM, and that one day, we _will_ be strong enough to fight them. With us, you will be able to one day return, and take your home _back!_ "

The room falls totally silent.

...

"...heh, heh... hah!"

Mohammed's hoarse laughter breaks the silence. Damien gives him a strange look.

Mohammed waves his hands in protest. "Oh, no, my boy, don't mistake my laughter for dismissal! You see, it's just...well, we already had this debate amongst ourselves yesterday. Several members of our group wanted to stay and fight, regardless of the odds. Those who you see before you, and everyone else in this building today, are those who have elected to leave."

Damien blinks. "...oh."

"Bahaha!" Surge slams her fist on the table, unable to hold back her laughter any longer. Many of the Midnight Liberty members laugh and snicker, as well.

"Don't be embarrassed, my boy!" wheezes Mohammed. "You've given us a rather desperately needed morale boost!"

Damien ruffles the back of his head while grinning awkwardly. "Ah, hell, don't try and make me feel better..."

"Christ," Surge squeaks out, wiping tears from her eyes. "If you didn't already have a nickname, you sure would after this!"

* * *

_**Meanwhile, upstairs...** _

"Damn, what do you think they're laughing so hard about?" asks Bastoli, shifting one leg over the other. "I feel like we've missed something by staying here."

"I'm sure they'll tell us later," Chalk smiles.

"Yeah, but it's never as funny."

Suddenly, the door outside bursts open and a frantic young man wearing a black turban and scarf dashes in, looking around wildly.

"Somethin' wrong?" asks Thundersaw, beginning to stand up.

The man hesitates for a moment, unsure as to who these strangers are. Another Midnight Liberty member, appears from the hallway, and speaks to the agitated newcomer in Arabic. The young man has to catch his breath before he can speak clearly, but eventually manages to get his point across to the older member, whose eyes go wide in realization.

"All of you, come with me," he addresses the three operatives. "We have a big problem."

* * *

The sound of multiple pairs of legs rushing down the basement stairs draws Surge's attention. Her good mood immediately dies off as she perks up, listening closely. She spots her three team members coming down the stairs after a Midnight Liberty member.

"Mohammed!" The resistance fighter descending the stairs shouts for the leader's attention.

"What has happened?" Immediately alert, Mohammed stands up and faces the resistance fighter, speaking in English for the benefit of the XCOM operatives.

"Tarek," the fighter breathes. "He actually did it. Just now!"

Surge stands up and places her hands on the table. "Tarek?"

Mohammed gives her a quick glance to explain. "One of the members who wanted to stay. He...he advocated stronger violence against ADVENT. A hot-headed young fool who often made claims about attacking their garrison in Luxor, but..." Mohammed shakes his head in a mix of guilt, shame, and disbelief.

He turns back to the resistance fighter. "You're saying he actually did it? Tarek has attacked the garrison?"

The fighter nods. "With about thirty others. I just now heard about this from Hamid. He said the attack began no less than twenty minutes ago."

Damien swears under his breath, clenching a fist. "Is he trying to get you all killed? The first thing ADVENT is going to do is lock down all their security checkpoints! And the goddamn mechanized division will be here in a matter of hours!"

The resistance fighter nods. "I'll go make sure we have someone keeping an eye on all the checkpoints!" The man rushes back upstairs, two steps at a time.

"How ready are you to evacuate?" Surge asks.

" _We_ are mostly prepared," Mohammed answers. "As in, those you see before you. But we had not planned to leave today. There are a great many of us that have dependent family members here, you see."

"I hate to be the one to say this," Damien grimaces.

Mohammed holds up a hand and cuts him off. "I know what you do not wish to say. That, if we do not leave immediately, none of us will be able to escape. Yes?"

Damien nods hesitantly. "If you forego all supplies and possessions, will you be able to gather all your people in an hour?"

A few of the Midnight Liberty members around the room cringe and look away awkwardly.

Mohammed shakes his head. "Not all of them. Most, but not all."

Damien notices a map of the city on the table and picks up it, bringing it over to Surge.

"I'm going to go check on the status of our extraction convoy," he says, gesturing to his phone. "Surge, I'm assuming you'll be able to figure a way for us to get out of here." Surge nods, and Damien hustles up the stairs.

Wasting no time, Mohammed speaks up, holding his arms out to his comrades. "My friends! We have very little time. Those of you who are unwilling to leave behind family, know that I understand, and will not resent you for it. But for the rest - go! We have no choice but to put our faith in our new allies. Gather your families at the agreed locations. Bring only what you can carry!"

The fighters remain unmoving, hesitantly blinking.

" _Go!_ " he shouts, startling them into action. Some members, presumably with no family, remain behind. He turns to Surge, and moves to stand next to her.

"Ms. Rellick, the two places where we had agreed to meet in case of an emergency like this are here," Mohammed points to the map, "and here."

"That desolated parking garage from earlier? Hmm...hey, Chalk, get over here!"

Chalk hurries over, Bastoli and Thundersaw following suit.

"Chalk, the families of ML are meeting up here and here. This spot here is that parking garage from earlier...and here is the southeast checkpoint we came in through. Is this in range of your rifle?"

Chalk closes her eyes and thinks for a moment. "...yes," she says. "The range is feasible, the view from the top was unobstructed."

"God bless your amazing memory. Mohammed, how many of the people here aren't going to get family members? How many of them can fight?" Surge asks, planting her hands on the table.

Mohammed turns around slowly, doing a head count. Many fighters step forward, silently volunteering.

"...sixteen," he answers. "About double if you're desperate for anyone that can hold a rifle."

"Depends if the checkpoint security will have been upgraded by the time we get there or not," Surge replies. "But I don't think we need to scrape the barrel."

Surge takes a deep breath, forcing her anxieties down. "Alright. Here's what I'm thinking. Thundersaw, Bastoli, you two are gonna lead a group of eight from the north side of the road. I remember seeing a restaurant there - it has a good angle on the security checkpoint. Chalk is going to be on the roof of the parking garage, attacking from afar. And I'll lead another group of eight from the south side of the road. There's no good rooftops there, so we'll have to get in close. If we're lucky, Chalk and the first group will kill everything before we get a chance to get shot at."

Surge pushes herself off the table and turns to Mohammed. "Do you have any long range or explosive weapons? Grenade launchers, RPG's, sniper rifles."

One of the resistance fighters steps forward and lightly pounds his chest. "My brother and I are good shots. We can join your sniper."

"What's your weapon?" asks Chalk.

"Dragunov SVD. Both of us."

She nods her acceptance.

"Good," Surge nods. "Explosives?"

"We have a couple M79 grenade launchers," another member says. "That's about it. What few explosives we did have, Tarek took."

"Thumpers? Fuck, those are old. Not going to do shit against any vehicles, but better than nothing. Can I assume you at least have enough assault rifles for sixteen people?"

Mohammed clears his throat. "Yes, that we have."

"Alright. Divide your sixteen into two groups for me, and have all of them go get armed. This is going to be a tight schedule."

Mohammed gives some commands in Arabic, and the Midnight Liberty members rush about.

"Oi!" Damien shouts as he descends the stairs, squeezing to the side to avoid the crowd. "I've got good and bad news. The bad news is that the first ADVENT reinforcements are here, and your man upstairs says they've already reinforced the southeast checkpoint. Current headcount is three troopers and one officer. Tire traps are active and the barriers are blocking the road."

"Fuck," Surge spits. "What's the good news?"

"Our extraction convoy is close. They've got the 'Ranger and two helos on standby at Karrick, multiple trucks on the way."

"God bless rapid response," Bastoli mutters.

"It won't matter if we can't break through that checkpoint before it gets reinforced again. If those White Knights show up, we're fucked," Surge says.

Surge takes another deep breath to calm herself, and starts bouncing up and down to psyche herself up.

"Alright!" she says, pumping her fist. "Time is critical. Gear up, Hammers, we've got a checkpoint to break!"

* * *

_**About an hour later...** _

Surge holds up a fist to her squad of resistance fighters, and they take cover in an alleyway about a block away from the security checkpoint. Distant gunshots and explosions echo far in the distance.

"Hopefully that damn fool Tarek draws all the attention," one of the resistance fighters mumbles.

"Any closer and we risk being seen before we're ready," Surge says to the fighters. Crouching behind a dumpster, she peeks around the corner to look at the checkpoint. She sees two troopers standing in front of the concrete barriers, rifles drawn. A loudspeaker attached to a streetlight repeatedly blares instructions for all civilians to return to their homes.

Surge taps her earpiece. "Chalk, you in position?"

"Yes," Chalk's voice crackles through. "We have an excellent vantage point up here."

"Headcount?"

In between the echoing gunshots and loudspeaker announcements, the city is eerily quiet, and completely devoid of people. Anxiety continues to gnaw at the back of Surge's mind, and she bites her lip to distract her brain with pain.

"Unchanged. Three troopers, one officer. Booth is unoccupied."

"Keep me posted." Surge taps her earpiece again. "Thundersaw, how's group B? You in position?"

Across the desolate streets, she spots a few fighters dashing between buildings.

"Not yet," a gruff male voice crackles. "Still need about three minutes. Building is clear, though, nobody inside."

"Alright, team A on standby in the alley across the street." Surge waves in the general direction of the fighters she saw.

"Yeah, I see you. Moving on now."

Surge lets out a quick sigh of relief.

" _So far, so good. Everything's gone according to plan,_ " she thinks.

Turning around to look at the fighters in her group, she makes an effort of looking them in the eyes, giving a confident nod. Thankfully, they all knew at least basic English, and coordinating them so far had not been an issue.

" _Still, though, for most of these guys this is probably their first time actually fighting ADVENT,_ " Surge thinks. " _The looks in their eyes show it._ "

Two women are visibly nervous, eyes twitching around. One particularly muscled man returns Surge's nod with confidence, clearly ready to take on the enemy. One of the members at the back of the group, Surge notices, is considerably shorter than the others. Curious, she walks over to him. While his face is largely concealed, his eyes give off a very calm impression.

"Hey, aren't you that kid from earlier?" Surge says. "The one who brought the news about that Tarek guy's attack."

His gaze stiffens a little. "I am not a kid. My name is Hamid." His voice is slightly muffled by the scarf.

Surge frowns and raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You sure you can handle this, Hamid?" The young man looks at the ground. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, and lowers his scarf so he can speak clearly.

"This is all I have now," he says quietly, looking Surge directly in the eyes. "I will not run away."

Surge blinks, surprised by his calm determination. Then she smiles and claps him on the shoulder.

"You remind me of someone else. Good answer, Hamid."

His lips curl into a faint smile at the compliment, and he nods.

Chalk's voice crackles through the radio. "Surge, we have a problem."

Immediately alert again, Surge slides over to her position on the dumpster. "What's wrong?"

"ADVENT APC pulling up the checkpoint now."

"Fuck!" Surge slams her first into her thigh, gritting her teeth. Peeking out from the dumpster, she can indeed see a huge black vehicle, partially obscured behind the concrete barriers.

"Rear doors opening," Chalk's voice says, completely calm. "Tracking...one, two, three...four, no, _five_ additional troopers. Driver has not exited."

Surge swears again, tapping her earpiece. "Thundersaw! Tell me you're in position!"

Thankfully, he replies within seconds. "Yeah, just got to the roof. I see the APC. I'm gonna split my team in half, so they can't pin us all down with directed fire. Gonna move the two Thumpers over to the building to our left, closer to the checkpoint."

"Alright, good idea. Thank fuck ML had _some_ explosives."

Surge's racing mind begins to calm down. " _There may be more troopers, but the checkpoint is still pretty narrow. If they cluster up, a Thumper could take out several at once..._ "

Surge watches in silence as a resistance fighter across the street gives his comrade a boost, tossing him up to grab the roof of the adjacent building. He leans over to offer his friend a hand, pulling him up. Another fighter opts to deftly climb up a thick pipe on the corner of the building.

"Driver has exited," Chalk's voice crackles through the earpiece. "It's another officer."

" _Unfortunate, but to be expected._ " Surge thinks. " _That puts the count at seven troopers and two officers._ "

"Your guys ready, Thundersaw?" she says.

Her earpiece is quiet for around fifteen seconds. As she begins to repeat the question, Thundersaw's voice comes through.

"Yeah, we're ready."

Surge nods to herself. She looks back at her squad, waving them over to get their attention.

"Alright, everyone listen up," she says, speaking both to her squad and into the earpiece. "This is going to have to be coordinated perfectly. On my signal, Team A will launch two grenades at the clustered troopers. The snipers are going to pick off what they can. Thundersaw, tell your guys to watch their fire from the roof, because Team B will charge in close under smoke grenade cover. Everyone got that?"

"Got it," Thundersaw replies. "Relaying instructions to my team now."

"The troopers standing on our side of the barriers will be easy to pick off," Chalk says, nodding at her fellow snipers.

Surge nods again and looks at her group. "Everyone, get ready. Double check your weapon and ammo. And you two in the back, take a deep breath. We're all gonna get out of here."

A minute passes in relative silence, the fighting in the distance apparently reaching a lull. The two anxious members of Surge's squad breathlessly whisper prayers, soothing their nerves a little.

"Ready," Thundersaw's voice finally crackles through.

" _Here we go,_ " Surge thinks.

"Chalk?"

"We are ready."

Surge peeks out of the dumpster one last time, readying a smoke grenade from her belt.

"On my mark..." she murmurs into her earpiece.

Surge pulls the pin on her smoke grenade. She leans back and tosses it as far down the street as she can throw it. It lands with a muffled clink.

One of the troopers in front of the concrete barriers notices it, and points it out to his fellows. He raises his rifle and cautiously walks towards it.

"Mark!" Surge shouts.

In an instant, three distinct sounds ring out. From across the street, two Thumpers loose a grenade towards a confused cluster of troopers behind the barriers. From far behind them, three loud gunshots crackle, and the heads of each trooper in front of the barrier explode into a revolting mess of brains and orange blood.

The resistance grenadiers aimed well, and their grenades explode into a deadly spray of shrapnel. Two troopers barely have time to yell out before their bodies are viciously torn apart, their Kevlar armor offering insufficient protection from the lethal metal shards.

"Four troopers killed, one officer wounded!" Chalk's voice says.

" _Four troopers and two officers to go, then,_ " Surge thinks.

The smoke grenade lying on the asphalt actives, spewing out a spray of red smoke. The fighters behind Surge anxiously pile up behind her, but Surge stops them by holding up a clenched fist.

"Cloud isn't big enough yet," she says.

Across the street, Thundersaw's team opens up in a barrage of assault rifle fire. The range is a little too far for precision shooting, but the sheer volume of fire catches one trooper. She shrieks in pain as she collapses onto the asphalt.

" _Three and two._ "

The surviving ADVENT waste no time in reacting. Two troopers rush forward, crouching behind the concrete barriers. Another trooper and an officer roll behind the APC for cover, immediately leaning out to return fire with their deadly magnetic assault rifles. The other officer, presumably the checkpoint manager, given her tan armor, moves sluggishly, clutching her side.

Another loud _crack_ rings out from behind Surge, and the officer jerks back, falling onto the ground and lying still.

"Too slow," Chalk whispers. "Officer down."

" _Three and one._ "

The smoke grenade has released a suitably thick cloud by now. Surge waves her arm forward.

"Let's go! Move up!" she shouts. She charges forward, the resistance fighters not far behind her.

"Surge, my team doesn't have an angle on the APC!" Thundersaw's voice crackles. "We'll keep the ones behind the barrier suppressed!"

"Roger!"

Even amid the chaos of battle, Thundersaw's voice is still loud enough to be heard from across the street, ordering his team to focus on the barriers.

Surge reaches the smoke cloud and continues to sprint through. She hears a mag round scream by, not too far from her left shoulder. Exiting the cloud, she slides into cover behind the corner of a restaurant. She leans out and fires off a quick burst towards the APC, more to keep them immobilized than to hit them. The fighters behind her burst out of the smoke and take cover at the same building. The last man out of the smoke, however, was a little too slow, and cries in pain as a mag round rips through his arm. He falls to the ground, but manages to roll himself behind the building and out of the line of fire.

" _Fuck, Bastoli's the one with the medkit,_ " Surge mentally hisses. She notices one of the fighters behind her, one of the nervous women from earlier, beginning to whine and shake.

"You!" Surge dashes over and grabs the woman by the shoulders. "Focus! Use your scarf and turban, bind that man's arm! Keep the pressure on to stop the bleeding!" The panicking woman hesitates, but comes to her senses and nods, rushing over to the injured man.

Unable to do anything more for the man, Surge immediately turns her attention back to the battle. She lets out another burst at the APC, and shouts an order at her team. Her fighters split into two groups, with four of them going around the right side of the building to get a better angle at the ADVENT hiding behind the APC.

One of the troopers hiding behind the concrete barrier tries to peek out for a glance, but is immediately sent back into cover by a spray of rifle fire.

" _If Chalk had her usual weapon, she might be able to shoot right through that,_ " Surge laments.

A familiar _thump_ sounds from Team B's rooftops, and she sees the grenade falling behind the barriers.

"Take cover!" she shouts. The grenade was a good ways away from them, but stray shards of shrapnel could fly surprisingly far, and she was taking no chances.

The grenade explodes, instantly killing one trooper while injuring the other. The injured trooper collapses in pain. Unable to move properly, the trooper's exposed leg tears apart as one of the snipers puts a round through it.

" _One and one._ "

Glancing out from around the corner, she sees the ADVENT behind the APC trading fire with the four fighters she sent ahead.

"Team B, reposition! Move up!" She shouts into her earpiece. "You two!" She beckons for the two healthy fighters she has left, Hamid and another man. "Follow me!"

The trooper spots Surge moving, and repositions to fire at her. Surge dives behind a pickup truck, narrowly avoiding several mag rounds that scream overhead. She rolls forward, swiveling out from behind the back of the truck, and looses three rounds at the trooper. One of them lands a lucky hit directly in the trooper's exposed chin, and he crumples backwards.

She pivots back behind the truck and reloads. Hamid and the other fighter take cover behind the corner of an apartment building. Tapping her earpiece again, Surge switches communication channels.

"Mohammed! We're down to a single enemy here! Get your trucks ready!"

"Yes, understood!" the old man's voice replies.

Someone to the right screams, and the body of one of Surge's resistance fighters collapses onto the road in a bloody heap. The sole remaining officer ducks back behind the APC to reload his mag rifle. Surge takes the remaining grenade from her belt, a flashbang.

"Thundersaw, have your squad hold their fire!" Surge points at her two fighters. "You two! Cover me as I move up! Keep him pinned!"

"Right!" Hamid leans out from the corner and fires at the APC as Surge sprints across the street, sliding into cover behind a delivery van, only twenty feet or so from the APC.

"This is close enough," she mutters, pulling the pin on the grenade. "Flash out!" she yells.

The officer, having apparently heard her, tries to break for new cover, but is too slow. The grenade goes off, and he stumbles onto his back, completely concealed behind the APC. His rifle slips out of his hands and clatters onto the asphalt.

"Hold your fire!" Surge shouts, and dashes out from behind the delivery van. She sprints as fast as she can towards the APC. As she nears the driver's seat, she sees the writhing legs of the officer, still on his back. She sidehops around the corner of the APC, rifle aimed downwards.

The officer, lying in a pool of his own blood, is clutching the left side of his helmet with one hand. He unsteadily points his sidearm pistol towards Surge with the other.

They fire simultaneously.

Surge's bullets slam into the upper chest of the officer. At such a close range, they penetrate through the thick red armor with ease, killing him instantly.

The officer only managed to loosed a single mag round, which clips Surge's right thigh.

Yelling in pain, she drops to one knee and slams her fist repeatedly against the APC.

" **Grah!** " she roars. "Fucking cocksucker ADVENT piece of shit fucking **fucker!** "

Surge hobbles back onto her feet, gritting her teeth and hissing from the pain. She taps her earpiece.

"All hostiles down. Bastoli, I took a light hit, need some help. Thundersaw, get the barriers out of the way. Chalk, contact Mohammed."

Although she'd like nothing better than to slump against the APC and wait for Bastoli to patch her up, she knows better than to literally sit in the open when reinforcements could show up at any time. She limps painfully towards the concrete barriers, where Bastoli and a resistance fighter each take one of her arms to carry her weight, and gently place her behind the delivery van.

Panting heavily, Surge wipes the sweat and dirt from her forehead.

"Stupid," Bastoli tsks. "Stupid, stupid."

"I'd have...thrown a frag if I had one..." Surge pants.

Bastoli rolls his eyes. "I'm aware it was probably the best answer to the situation. But it was still stupid." Bastoli pulls a bottle of liquid and some bandages out of his medical kit.

"This is going to sting..."

* * *

As Bastoli treats Surge, Thundersaw orders his team to push the barriers out of the road. Thundersaw himself dashes into the control booth.

"Let's see...tire spikes, tire spikes...ah, shite, it's all in Glyph..." he mutters. Unable to read the labeling on the buttons and levers, he instead looks for symbols. Eventually, he spots a symbol that resembles a tire trap, and pushes the button. Poking his head outside, he notices the tire traps did indeed retract back into the ground.

"Huh. Well, that was easier than I expected." He taps his earpiece. "Chalk, tire traps are down. Let Mohammed know the path is clear."

"Understood."

Thundersaw turns around, looking out blankly towards the road.

"No vehicles in sight," he says to himself.

He stands there for a moment, silently watching the desert. He can't decide if it's beautiful or ugly.

...

"The hell am I doing?" he says, shaking himself out of his daze. "No time to be standing around. I'll go gather up the mag weapons..."

* * *

_The Midnight Liberty convoy arrived within five minutes. After the last truck passed the checkpoint, the fighters replaced the concrete barriers and reactivated the tire traps. The fighters, eager to leave before more reinforcements arrived, ran after the trucks, which were waiting about fifty feet ahead. The XCOM operatives followed soon after, having needed to prepare one last attack..._

"You want the honors?" Thundersaw asks Surge. "You did get shot, I think you deserve it."

"Fine," Surge groans and pushes herself off the pickup truck, gingerly avoiding putting pressure on her bandaged leg. She takes the offered detonator from Thundersaw.

"Smart," she grunts. "Good idea, sabotaging the control booth like this." Surge flips the protective casing up and places her thumb over the red switch.

"He just wants to use the C4," Bastoli snorts. Behind him, Chalk smiles, too tired to laugh.

"Hey! We've got to make it harder for them to follow us. Besides, it's not like any of you were just gonna leave that APC intact, right?" Thundersaw says, laughing.

"Fuck no." Surge gives a pained laugh and presses down on the detonator. Simultaneously, the security control booth and the cabin of the APC explode into a brilliant fireball. The XCOM operatives and resistance fighters all whoop and cheer at the sight.

A secondary explosion, greater than the first, suddenly rocks the APC. The second explosion creates a visible shockwave as the APC twists into a ruined hulk of burning metal and rubber.

"Oooh, hoo...that must have been the fuel tank..." Bastoli giggles madly, unable to contain his glee.

" _Eat shit,_ you alien fucks!" Surge shouts, raising her fist into the air. _Everyone_ \- even Chalk - laughs at that, and cheers even louder than before.

Surge hobbles back around and flops onto the bed of the pickup truck, scooting herself backwards. She beckons to her friends and gives them an exhausted smile.

"Let's get the fuck outta here."

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

_The machine has been quiet lately._

_The normal sessions of absolute interrogation had stopped abruptly, leaving me with an abundance of time to think. It took me a while to realize it. A few hours, a few days, I'm not certain. It hardly matters here._

_I tried to think of things, I really did. Anything that might pass the time, anything that might bring an ember of happiness into this all-encompassing void. But the exhaustion from before has been replaced with apathy. I can't think of anything pleasant._

_I suspect that they won't allow me to._

_I know that something...no, someone...pleasant, is close to me. Very close. But whenever I try to focus on the sensation, I find myself quickly forgetting about them._

_I repeat this cycle for thousands, millions of attempts. I know that it's pointless._

_But it's better than doing nothing, and it's better than trying to think._

_On that note..._

_Living minds rarely touch my own anymore. The few times that they do, I can feel their frustration. I wonder if my meager resistance has actually managed to impede them...or if they're simply dissatisfied with the speed of this...endeavor._

_Whatever they hope to accomplish, I hope they do it soon. I am beginning to truly hate this silent, endless wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wall of text ahead!
> 
> Whew! This was quite the ambitious chapter, by far the biggest I've ever written. I could have broken it into two chapters, but ultimately decided not to. How did you guys enjoy the first taste of real combat?
> 
> Having written multiple scenes with it now, I've come to quite like third person perspective. It certainly keeps the use of 'I' to a minimum, if nothing else. I still plan to mix in first person scenes, though, like I did with Selena's this chapter.
> 
> On top of that, I'd love to get some feedback from you all. How did you feel about the pacing of this chapter? I wanted to include a bit of humor among the first real, brutal violence, but it had to feel natural. No 'this is the attempt at meeting the minimum humor quota' line.
> 
> While writing this chapter, I finally came up with a compelling structure for the overall story. I'm especially looking forward to writing the endgame, when I finally get to it months from now. I hope you'll all stick with me! In regard to length, I'd estimate this to be a bit past halfway of the first 'act'. I don't intend on writing an epic, but this story should be fairly lengthy.
> 
> The next chapter may take a little longer to come out, as I want to catch up on some books I picked up over the holiday. Darth Bane: Path of Destruction by Drew Karpyshyn and Darth Plagueis by James Luceno. (Yes, I have plans to write a Star Wars short at some point) Also just finished playing through Transformers: Fall of Cybertron, which was an absolute blast.
> 
> (I'm going to make this a copy-paste from now on)
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story as actual soldiers for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a link can be found on the r/XCOM subreddit. Just search for 'Revenant', and you should find the latest chapter there. Likewise, if you just want to see an image album of what they look like, that can also be found there.
> 
> OK, rambling over. Thank you for reading, and I hope to hear from you all next time!
> 
> -Spiner


	6. Chapter Six

Surge leans further back into the wall-mounted chair of the Skyranger and sighs tiredly. It has only been around two hours since her squad had split up with the Midnight Liberty members, but her sore body tells a much longer tale.

Their truck convoy drove for about fifteen minutes before rendezvousing with XCOM's aerial extraction team. The additional helicopters proved useful after all, providing a medevac for the man who was wounded at the fight for the security checkpoint. A few members opted to travel in the helicopters, but most opted to remain in the truck convoy, which proceeded to Karrick outpost without any hindrances. The Midnight Liberty members would likely remain at Karrick for the foreseeable future, until XCOM command decided how best to distribute them.

A few people had been surprised to learn that they would not, in fact, be heading to XCOM headquarters. Thankfully, Mohammed had been very understanding of the extreme necessity of secrecy, and managed to calm his people down.

Well, almost all of them.

Surge turned her gaze to the newcomer in the Skyranger. The excited young man met her gaze and gave her a confident nod. Surge smiled and gently returned the gesture. She closed her eyes and drew her arms to her chest, recalling his words.

* * *

Hamid had approached her shortly after the convoy arrived at Karrick, his eyes fierce with a quiet determination.

"I want to go with you," he said bluntly. "I want to be part of XCOM."

Surge looked him up and down, unfazed by the request. Hamid met her scrutiny with unflinching resolve.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. "Look kid, I can tell you're serious, so I'm going to be totally honest with you. Alright?"

He gave a curt nod.

"There are secrets at our base that are more valuable than your life. So if you're with us, you commit one _hundred_ percent. You get my meaning?"

Hamid hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Then he nodded again.

"And you still want in?" Surge was watching him like a hawk for any signs of self-doubt.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and straightened his posture. "Yes, ma'am. I do."

Surge grinned and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. "I knew you reminded me of someone. I think you two will get along pretty well."

She laughed at his confused look and beckoned for him to follow her to the Skyranger. "C'mon. I'll vouch for you."

* * *

"...and that concludes my report, sir."

Surge stepped out of her salute and eased back into a more relaxed position, with her hands clasped behind her back. Karim Mohammed looked at her amusedly, one eyebrow raised, from behind his office desk. A tall standing fan whirred back and forth, sending cool air around the room.

"At ease. You look tense, Ms. Rellick. Should you have perhaps gone to the medical staff first?"

Surge gave an indifferent half-shrug with her head and one shoulder. "My wound isn't serious, sir. I already got patched up...and I would really have dreaded looking forward to a debriefing after a hospital visit."

Karim chuckled. "Fair enough. A tactical expert I am not, so fear not, I shall not chastise your decision to charge the downed officer."

Karim shifted in his chair, straightening up and assuming a more serious demeanor.

"Indeed, I am quite impressed with the results of the operation. Nearly a hundred new resistance members, with only three casualties. Although I expect it will be quite a difficult challenge to find an appropriate location for so many..."

Karim waved the worries away. "But that is my problem, not yours. Go and get some well-earned rest. Oh, and I shall let Captain Marai know that she can expect a new addition to her trainees."

Surge nodded. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

"Here's to our friend and comrade, Liz, for a mission well done! Cheers!" Abdul boomed heartily.

"Cheers!" the rest of Hammer squad echoed.

"Cheers," Arkady grumbled.

XCOM headquarters had neither a steady supply of liquor nor a designated place to drink it, but the canteen would occasionally be allowed to offer some of their limited supply of drinks. It may have lacked the certain atmosphere of a bar, but it was safe, and had air conditioning. That was all anyone needed.

The members of Hammer squad lean across the canteen table to clink their chosen beverages together, laughing at Arkady's eternally dour personality. Most of them had chosen a simple beer. Surge, as the woman of the hour, had opted for her preferred brand of whiskey, however.

"Ah..." she exhales in relief. "That's the stuff."

The canteen was largely deserted, caught at the awkward hour where it was too early for dinner and too late for lunch. The few others that were there smiled and cheered for the victorious soldiers, but left them their space to celebrate.

Chalk took a drink of her beer and smiled. "You certainly love your whiskey."

"Hell yes. Been my favorite drink since I first had it to celebrate getting out of basic."

Bastoli cocked his head in interest. "That couldn't have been all that long ago. When did you start drinking?"

"Well, I had my first drink when I was sixteen, but I didn't 'drink' with any regularity until I was like nineteen or so," Surge explained.

"Sixteen, huh?" Bastoli mused, swirling his bottle around by the neck of the bottle. "Sound about right for an American."

Surge sniffed in annoyance. "You callin' me a party girl? Who _hasn't_ had a drink by sixteen?"

"I didn't," Shayu said. The others all turn to look quizzically at the normally stoic woman.

"It was too expensive," she deadpans, prompting another hearty burst of laughter. Even Arkady smiles a little.

"Perfect delivery," Thundersaw sputters, coughing up the liquid he accidentally inhaled.

Shayu frowns. "That was not intended to be a joke. How was that funny?"

"You speak so rarely," Kenji explains. "It keeps our expectations low."

The group laughs again. The ghost of a smile appears on Shayu's lips, even though she doesn't understand why they're laughing.

"It wasn't really funny," Bastoli says, smirking. "I think we're all just in a pretty great mood." He takes another drink and turns towards Surge.

"Anyways, with how much shit we give Arkady, I thought it was only fair we throw the stereotypes at someone else for a change. It was a failed attempt at humor," Bastoli laughs.

"Unfunny," Arkady snorts. "Just like an Italian." The others howl with laughter, and bang their fists on the table.

The group continues to laugh and crack stupid jokes long after they finish their drinks, determined to fully enjoy their good mood.

* * *

The shrill cry of a whistle from across the training yard drew Selena's attention - it was the sign to return for new instructions.

"Alright, rookies, bring it in!" Captain Marai shouted. The recruits, who had been jogging laps, hustled over to their instructor, having since learned not to waste her time by _walking_ when she called. The ten recruits scrambled into a horizontal line formation, backs straight, awaiting her order.

"At ease," she waved. There was an audible sigh of relief as the recruits were allowed to shift into a more comfortable position.

"I think you've all gotten the feel for a normal PT workout by now," Captain Marai began. "So we're going to be moving on to other things." The recruits perked up at that, sharing a curious glance with each other.

"But don't you think that means you get to _stop!_ " She said, quashing their interested murmuring. "You're going to be doing PT every day for the next three months, _at least._ So don't get comfortable, because things are only going to get harder from here."

Selena swallowed, confident she knew what was coming next, but still unable to fully contain her nerves.

"We're going to start practicing rifle marksmanship today, and will do so regularly at this time for the next two weeks. The goal of this is not to learn how to use a rifle correctly. You will practice until you can't get it wrong, even when you're tired, hungry, and stressed. And believe me, you will be."

Captain Marai nodded gravely, perhaps unnecessarily, to convince the recruits to the seriousness of her promise.

"Alright. You have ten minutes to get to the shooting range. Refill your canteens now if you need to. Dismissed!"

* * *

"Emilia, you're holding it wrong. Here, mimic my grip." Selena leaned over to her friend to show her the proper way to hold an M-16 assault rifle.

"Ah, thank you," Emilia breathed in relief. "You seem very familiar with this. I'm glad you're here to help."

"Don't rely on me too much," Selena sniffed. "But yeah. I've been to the shooting range a hundred times, literally."

Emilia adjusted her grip to the correct position, and nodded gratefully. She brought the rifle up to eye-level to aim downrange at the practice targets. They hadn't gotten to fire anything yet, having had to receive a lengthy safety lecture first, but the Captain was supposed to be returning with their blank ammo soon.

Selena carefully placed her own rifle down and began massaging a knot out of her shoulder.

Then an idea struck her. "Say, Emilia."

"Hmm?" She looked over curiously.

"What's the number one rule of firearms?"

Emilia looked off to the side for a moment, searching her memory. "Always treat it as if it is loaded," she answered with a confident nod.

"Right. And number two?"

Emilia answered without hesitation. "Never point it at someone you don't intend to kill."

Selena nodded, satisfied. "Yep. You get those two down, and you're fine. Everything else is just muscle memory, eventually. Don't get too worried, 'kay?"

Emilia smiled. "Yes. Thank you, again."

The conversation ends, and Selena uses the silence to stand up and stretch. She surveys the area as she twists back and forth. The shooting range is not so much a range as an empty stretch of desert, with a couple lines of tape and chalk to designate firing lanes. There are several targets downrange - simple bulls-eyes with accuracy scorings - taped to thin metal sheets. An overhead tarp made of stitched-together green cloth provides some protection from the merciless sun.

"Ah, Selena...? Can I ask you a question?" Emilia's voice draws her out of her thoughts.

"What's up?"

"Why is it that you are so familiar with this place? And if you already know all these skills, why are you training with the rest of us?"

The suddenness of the question caught her off-guard, and her eyes widened in surprise. She shook her head and cleared her throat to compose herself.

"Your first question...isn't something I want to talk about right now. I'll tell you later, okay?"

Emilia nodded. She was still new here, but she understood that everyone here has their reasons.

Some more painful than others.

"The second question is straightforward enough. I want to be a fighter for XCOM. But it doesn't matter if I already have some of the skills needed - I don't have _all_ of them. And rookies are trained in groups to build camaraderie - teamwork and friendship - between them. The point is to grow _together_. To change from civilian to soldier as part of a group...it helps you adapt to your new identity."

Emilia blinked, taken aback by the surprisingly thorough answer. "I-I see. That makes a lot of sense, actually. Where did you learn that?"

Selena rolled her eyes. "Well, I mean it's not _that_ hard to figure out. But, uh, well..." Her cheeks flush a little.

"I got really bored once and read an old Army training manual front to back. In a single day."

"Oh," Emilia offered weakly.

"I was _really_ bored," Selena defended.

"Well, I suppose the principles of becoming a soldier are still mostly the same, even though we're rebels." Emilia's eyes widened a little and she sniffed. "Huh. I suppose that just now clicked. If you had asked me about XCOM a year ago, I probably would have called them terrorists. Bad people. But now, well..."

"It's pretty weird, huh?" Selena agreed.

The shrill cry of a whistle in the distance signaled the Captain's return. Selena turned her attention to the approaching instructors, silently grateful for the chance to avoid talking about her past for now.

With that video of Mom and Dad...it's just...too fresh. She can't.

Well, at least she was already at the shooting range. Target practice always helped her calm down.

* * *

"Now then, Ms. Retter..." Karim Mohammed adjusts the collar of his shirt and begins to slowly pace back and forth in the front of the classroom. Today, the classroom was devoid of anyone but the teacher and his lone pupil. A simple rotating fan placed on one of the many empty desks whirs in the background as it struggles to provide sufficient cooling. The air conditioning in this room would normally be on, but Karim had deemed it unnecessary for a mere two people.

Morgan, sitting at the first desk in the middle column, took another drink of water from her canteen. The classroom, buried deep underground as part of the sinkhole's tunnel network, wasn't _that_ hot. But today was an especially hot day, and heatstroke was never to be underestimated.

She felt a sudden wave of sympathy for her sister.

Karim clears his throat and resumes his lecture. "I've always been a believer in using practical application of teachings. So here is my question for you. Why does the recent acquisition of over a hundred new resistance members pose a challenge? Use the information covered in today's lecture."

Morgan bites her lip in concentration. "Well, it's going to be hard to find a place for that many people, for starters..."

"That's true," Karim interrupted. "But I'd like you to take a step back. What's the _first_ problem? It's something easy to overlook."

"Um...I'm not sure I understand..." Morgan frowns uneasily. Her teacher's questions were rarely simple fact-checks. It was a far cry from learning from a book.

"Let me rephrase. The people were evacuated hastily, with almost no time to prepare. Furthermore, they all left at the _same time._ Does that help?"

"Oh!" Morgan snapped her fingers. "I get it! A hundred people don't go missing at once without drawing attention. People are going to want to know where they went."

Karim nods. "Yes, correct. Once the riots in Luxor are pacified, I have no doubt that ADVENT will launch an investigation." Karim stops pacing and stands off to the side of Morgan.

"When our undercover recruiters manage to convince people to join us, they are smuggled away over time in small groups or individually. Why is that?"

"Because it draws the least suspicion," Morgan answers.

"Correct. Continue with your explanation of the other difficulties."

"Yes, sir. Well, a group that big is larger than the population of some of our outposts. So...the most obvious difficulty will be finding a place with enough room for them. And it would be best to keep them all together, so-"

"It would be best to keep them together? Why is that?" Karim interrupted her again, pressing to make sure she understood her own reasoning.

Morgan swallows and continues speaking. She isn't completely certain of her answer, but it sounds reasonable to her. "Right now, those people are happy to be free, but they're also sad and scared. Sad, because they had to leave their home, and there's no way they managed to bring every item and person they wanted with them. And scared, because their future is uncertain, and maybe even dangerous now. And..."

Morgan bit her lip again, resuming her explanation with a growing confidence. "And while it would be easiest for us if we split them up as needed to fit into all the existing outposts, that would be bad for them. They need to adjust to their new life as a group, and rely on each other, first. If we move them now, they would be heavily upset. Maybe even hostile."

She snapped her fingers again. "Oh! Isn't that kinda the same reason why rookies train in groups?"

Karim smiles lightly. "Yes, precisely. Well done, Enigma."

Morgan beams at the use of her codename.

"This relates to the second half of today's lesson. Tell me, why were the refugees not allowed to come to our headquarters?"

"Because the location of our base is a secret," Morgan answers.

"Even so. Couldn't we make them swear to secrecy? Wouldn't that be enough?"

Morgan blinks twice. "Um...no?"

Karim feigns astonishingly genuine ignorance. "No? Why not?"

Noticing the blank look on her face, he resumes his earlier demeanor. "Do not worry about what you believe I want to hear. Tell me what _you_ think."

"Okay...we can't let them come to the base because...it's too much of a risk?" Morgan frowns, unsatisfied with her own answer.

Karim nods. "That would be the spirit of the answer, yes. Too much of a risk." He turns his back to her and walks towards the blackboard at the front of the room. Picking up a piece of chalk, he scribbles a square onto the surface. Then, he draws a smaller square attached to the main square by two lines on each face of the square.

"I was never much of an artist, so bear with me. The big square represents our base. The center of all the resistance groups in our network. The smaller squares are cells and outposts - bases that are not this one. The lines connecting them are our means of giving and receiving information. Your mind obviously shoots to radios, cellphones, and the like, but that includes couriers, vehicle convoys and secretive exchanges in person, as well. Are you with me?"

Morgan nods. Karim draws an arrow towards the smaller square on the left line, and an arrow towards the big square on the right line.

"These lines are our nerves. The means by which the brain distributes commands to the hands and feet. But they are also our greatest vulnerability. If they were compromised, our enemies could follow the lines to the big square - they could learn of our headquarters."

 _"It's a weird way to explain things, but it makes sense,"_ Morgan thinks. She nods her understanding, and Karim erases the lines connecting one of the squares.

"That is why we must take measures to protect information about us. The most obvious of which is to prevent people from going directly to the big square - this is why the refugees are turned away. I do not doubt that they are good people, and willing to work, but they are unknowns, and there are many of them. Information about the headquarters can only be given to the most trustworthy, loyal of people, and even then, we heavily restrict the numbers."

Karim rubs the back of his neck and steps back from the chalkboard. "These smaller squares are called _cells._ The structures of most, if not all, secret organizations utilize these. Can you tell me what you know about them?"

"A cell is a form of organizing a group into a main group and several smaller groups, where information is distributed on a need-to-know basis," Morgan recites, having read about the concept the day before. "This protects the center of the organization, and by extension, the entire body."

Karim nods. "The cell structure makes each outpost, each miniature resistance under our flag - independent. They do not need constant support from us, nor do we from them. This is safer for both of us. Even if an entire cell were to be detected and destroyed, the group as a whole would live on, as the loss of a single cell does not endanger the body. Even if threatened by violence, it is impossible to give information that you _do not have_."

Karim gives his pupil a sly, almost sinister, smile. "You can not betray what you do not know."

* * *

The head of XCOM intelligence continued to instruct his student for another hour and a half, covering mainly on the structure and operation of insurgent and secretive organizations. Just the basics, but it was absolutely vital that she attain a strong understanding of the concepts early in her education.

"That will do for today, Enigma," Karim said tiredly. This was as far from a traditional education as you could get, and certainly not the most efficient...but the girl's appetite for knowledge was voracious. A handful of times, Karim could feel her excitement and satisfaction tingle palpably on his skin when he praised her for a correct answer or explanation.

Teaching her was at once uniquely invigorating and exhausting.

"Now, unfortunately, I will not be available for the next few days," he said. "I will have someone take over as your instructor for the time being. In the meantime, review the material we discussed today. When I return, I want you to explain the downsides and vulnerabilities of a cell-based organization."

Morgan blinked and fidgeted in her chair. She did not wear it on her face, but he could tell that she was uneasy about something.

"You have questions."

She jerked back slightly, startled. "Ah, yes sir! I...I do."

Karim tilted his head inquisitively, a signal for her to speak.

"Um...it would be easier to just show you..." Morgan pulled her tablet computer out of her satchel and fingered a few commands on it, passing it over to her teacher. He accepted it, and looked down to see an entirely black screen.

"It's a video file," Morgan explained. "I found it on there."

He started the playback, crinkling his brow as he tried to decipher the scene.

His eyes widened in realization after a few seconds. He paused the video shortly after Morgan's parents began talking.

"This was not meant for me," he explained, handing the tablet back.

A bloated silence filled the room like a fog. Morgan hugged one arm closer to her body and looked away awkwardly.

"This must have been your mother's, then," Karim eventually said, gesturing to the tablet. "I wondered where they disappeared to that day."

She looked up at him, a mix of curiosity and trepidation welling up behind her wide eyes.

Sensing her pending question, he continued to speak. "No. I did not know this was hers, nor did I realize this file was on there. I may be devious, Ms. Retter, but I am not _evil_. I would never have intentionally withheld something like this from you or your sister."

"Did..." Karim hesitated, in a rare moment of uncertainty. "Did you find anything else?"

"No," Morgan said glumly. "Just that. I searched practically everywhere after I found the video."

The silence returned. Morgan's own uncomfortable feelings served to amplify Karim's, and he had to bite his lip to contain an awkward grimace.

"Could you..." Morgan finally broke the silence, squeezing her interlocked fingers.

"Could you tell me about them?"

Karim breathed a mental sigh of relief. The Retter girls had been at XCOM headquarters for nearly two years now, but had never once questioned him about their parents or the old days. As far as he knew, they had not discussed it with John, either.

He smiled gently. "What would you like to know?"

"What..." Morgan paused and gulped. "What was my mother like?"

"I must confess that I never came to know your mother especially well," he started. "She was pregnant with you, and we had little opportunity to cross paths. When we did, though..." Karim shakes his head, fondly remembering the woman.

"Your mother was a woman of considerable talents. Your father stole all the credit for being a genius, but I could tell that her intellect was razor-sharp, as well. She was someone who wanted to help, too...she wanted to do more, but her condition restricted her."

Karim looked down to see that Morgan had an odd look on her face, scrunched up and uncertain.

Karim flinched as he realized the misconception he might have just caused. "I am certain that your mother did not resent you, Ms. Retter, nor did she think of you as a burden. Never permit your mind to wander to such thoughts."

"R-right. I know. I don't," she said.

"Think of myself that way," she added.

He smiled sadly. "It's a pity the invasion ended so quickly. Had she had time to recover, I would have loved to have seen her legendary piloting skills in action. We have a distinct lack of jet fighters today, sadly."

That much, she already knew. Mr. Bradford had told her many years ago that Mom used to fly jet planes.

She used to spend a lot of time lying back on grassy hills and watching the clouds, wondering what it would be like to fly between them.

"Hmm..." Karim hummed on the verge of realizing something.

A beeping sound drew Karim's attention to his wristwatch. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. The realization he had almost grasped was gone, for now.

"Tsk. Unfortunately, I am urgently required elsewhere." Karim stood up and began to walk to the door. He stopped and turned before he left, however, and smiled gently at his student.

"Consider it part of your homework to come up with questions about your parents, Ms. Retter. I will be more than happy to entertain them."

Morgan saluted enthusiastically. "Yes sir!"

* * *

Specialist Damien Black yawned deeply, slumping down against the metal wall of the operations center.

A late-night code yellow - the declaration of a pending, non-urgent mission - had summoned him and two others to the cramped room. Even this late at night, intelligence personnel buzzed about the room, tending to communication headsets and computer readouts. He recognized his fellows, but only by nickname. 'Shayu', a slender Asian woman with her hair brought up in a ponytail, and 'Meltdown', an unusually bulky Japanese man with a burn scar on his face. They were each members of Hammer squad, and had been summoned by name, along with himself.

Damien was too tired to even hazard a guess as to why the three of them were needed, so he yawned again. Meltdown, who had chosen one of the available chairs over the floor, crossed one leg over the other, drumming his fingers on his boot. Shayu chose to remain standing, and leaned against the wall. With her head down and nearly motionless stance, Damien thought it almost looked like she was praying.

Or maybe she fell asleep. He was about to, before the code-yellow call roused him.

"My apologies for the wait," a voice said. Damien looked up to see Director Mohammed, his superior, enter the operations center through the main doors.

" **Welcome, Director Mohammed,"** echoed the room's built-in AI.

Karim rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Yes, hello, Haji," he answered.

Damien didn't understand why his boss made a point of always responding to Haji. It wasn't a sentient artificial intelligence. He could probably code that 'greeting' feature out, if he wanted, but perhaps he did it for the benefit of the other personnel in the ops center.

"Howdy, boss," Damien said, stifling his next yawn. "So what are we dealing with?"

The Director grinned. Damien was familiar with the Director's style, and immediately knew what that grin meant - he wasn't going to tell them. Not right now, anyway.

" _Boss loves his secrets, after all. I suppose that's a pretty handy qualification for his job, though,_ " Damien thought.

He pushed himself off the floor and dusted off his knees. Meltdown and Shayu looked curiously at him. The Director nodded and assumed a somewhat professional appearance, hands behind his back.

"I'll explain on the way. Your bags are outside, we are leaving immediately," he said.

Shayu perked up at that. "You are coming with us, Director?"

The Director stuck a hand into the pocket of his shorts. "I am. Risky, I am aware, but no one else is qualified for this task."

"We're on bodyguard duty, then," Damien inferred.

"It is a bit more complex than that," The Director admitted, his amusement fading. "This is an _extremely_ important mission."

"May I ask what our objective is, Director?" Shayu interrupted. "I would like to be fully prepared for whatever task awaits."

The Director chuckled and started walking towards the door. Shayu frowned, but followed without complaint.

"We're departing to the port city of Yanbu, Saudi Arabia," he said. "We'll be taking a helicopter. No equipment is necessary, but I've had the basic concealed items included in your bags. And as for our objective..."

The Director stopped after crossing through the doorway, holding onto the frame with one arm. He turned his head to look back at them with a satisfied smirk.

"We're going to be making a sales pitch," he chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Long!
> 
> Well, I've burnt out of Long War 2 for the moment, so that means I can get back to writing. I fell into the same pit I did with many Long War 1 campaigns...around the mid-late game, getting frustrated with the immense number of missions. In an entire day of playing, I would advance maybe one week in-game. I'll go back to it at some point. It's a great mod!
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> You may or may not have noticed the resemblance some characters share in name and appearance to those from the video game series Fire Emblem. I felt like I should clarify that this is not a crossover story, and I have no intention of bringing in Fire Emblem stuff into this story. I also want to clarify that their personalities are not going to be boring copy-paste jobs (I consider them different characters). That should already be somewhat apparent with Selena's character. The Commander's character, in particular, is going to be very different.
> 
> So why use them?
> 
> A couple of simple reasons. First, I love their character designs, both name and appearance. Second, I really like their family dynamic. Morgan and Selena as sisters is one of my favorite pairings. The third reason are the shared story mechanics of Fire Emblem Awakening and XCOM 2. If you don't already know what I'm implying, don't worry about it. It won't be showing up in the story until near the end.
> 
> Ultimately, I don't feel it's a very important deal, but hey, better to clear this up early.
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS...
> 
> For any Star Wars fans out there, I highly recommend taking a look at the Darth Bane and Darth Plagueis books. I finished them not too long ago, and man! They were incredible. I love reading stories from the villain's perspective. Darth Plagueis, in particular, was especially impressive for me. It made the prequels into actually compelling stories, when I learned the background events leading up to them. On top of that, it made one of the least interesting characters (Palpatine/The Emperor) into one of the most interesting.
> 
> The diction can be quite complex, though. I had to break out a dictionary about once every other page...but ah, it was so good. I feel kind of inadequate with my own word choice now, but I know that needlessly inserting complex words into a story is a problem of its own.
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story as actual soldiers for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a link can be found on the r/XCOM subreddit. Just search for 'Revenant', and you should find the latest chapter there. 
> 
> If you just want to see an image album of what they look like, that can be found here: imgur/a/3UG51.com
> 
> Alright, enough rambling. See you all next time! Feedback is always welcome!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another big chapter, which means - that's right, time for another operation!
> 
> Also, I feel like this chapter warrants a clarification on characters and names, as I use different names depending on whose perspective the narration inhabits.
> 
> Dr. Karim Mohammed - chief XCOM intelligence officer, AKA 'the Director'
> 
> Kenji Ikeda - Hammer squad member, AKA 'Meltdown'
> 
> Shayu - Hammer squad member. Very few people know her real name (Kenji is one of those few). Shayu is Chinese for shark.
> 
> Specialist Damien Black - XCOM intelligence operative, AKA 'Waterfall', although hardly anyone uses his nickname.
> 
> Captain Ashley Marai - original XCOM veteran and trainer of rookies, AKA 'Nami'. Only close friends are allowed to call her that.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

 

"Isn't it about time you gave us the briefing, boss?" Damien asks, tapping his headset to ensure it is functioning properly.

The interior of the helicopter was surprisingly comfortable and luxurious - definitely not standard fare for an XCOM operative. Damien had known right away that the helicopter must have been privately owned, given the large logo on the aircraft's exterior: a swirling, green ribbon, with Arabic text intertwined. He wasn't sure what it meant, but it looked like it would suit a high-class business.

The fact that he didn't recognize the pilot helped, as well.

"Yes, I suppose it is about that time," Karim admitted, his voice partially distorted by the headset. Shayu and Meltdown perked up, looking over and ensuring their own headsets were functional. After a quick ready check, Karim pulled a tablet computer out of his satchel bag and began to speak.

"Our objective," he started, tapping some commands on the tablet and bringing up a picture of a well-dressed Saudi man, "is this man. One Rashid Al-Daran." Karim passed the tablet to his operatives.

Damien recognized the name, if not the face. "I've heard of him. A big name in the renewable energy business, right?"

Karim nodded. "That is correct. He is an extremely wealthy and influential individual. His company - the logo of which this helicopter bears - Daran Holdings, is highly diversified. The energy trade is just the public face. He has sway in a large number of other industries: oil, automobiles, construction...politics as well, naturally."

"And most recently..." Karim sniffed and adjusted himself in his seat. "The elerium industry."

"The _elerium_ industry?" Meltdown scoffed. "What good is there in meeting with yet another ADVENT sellout?"

" _That's true,_ " Damien thought. " _There is no elerium industry without a partnership with ADVENT. But if this Al-Daran guy is just another greedy collaborator, there's no reason for us to be here._ "

Karim recognized the unspoken conclusion his subordinate came to, and smirked. "Not so fast, Mr. Ikeda. I assure you, Mr. Al-Daran is no sellout. While this will be my first meeting in person, it is not our first exchange. I have spent a great deal of time and effort wooing him to give us a chance."

Shayu crossed her arms. "You believe we can arrange some sort of business deal, then."

"Something like that," Karim said. "Understandably, he wants proof of our sincerity. Coming here in person is but the first test."

Karim leaned back into the comfortable seat and interlocked his fingers.

"We will have to wait and see what other challenges he would ask of us."

* * *

Through the window, Shayu could see the city lights of Yanbu in the distance. What little she knew of the city came from the condensed briefing from the Director's tablet. Apparently, Yanbu had been an important port city along the Red Sea for many centuries. In recent times, however, its commercial value as a shipping hub had been outshined by the energy industry brought by Daran Holdings. Traditionally, Yanbu was a hub of oil refinement, but the partnership between ADVENT and Daran Holdings had birthed new elerium refineries.

Able to generate immense amounts of power for years, while remaining completely safe to the environment, elerium was an extremely enticing benefit to collaboration. Most, if not all, of the lesser energy companies around the Yanbu industrial area had gotten into bed with ADVENT long ago. As a result of the huge influx of new profits, Yanbu had quickly become one of the wealthiest and best-developed cities in the region, with shiny new skyscrapers bearing a distinct, alien-architectural influence. And unlike the graveyard city that was Dubai, there was no chance of catastrophe as long as the benevolent Elders were involved. Yanbu would only continue to innovate, grow, and profit.

" _A shining example of the fruitful union between humanity and the Elders,_ " Shayu thought, disgusted by the effectiveness of the Elder's trap. " _You catch more flies with honey, as they say._ "

The helicopter did not fly to Yanbu itself. Instead it flew a few miles south of the city, eventually arriving at a large mansion that had its own helicopter pad. It was too difficult to get a clear picture of the mansion, but Shayu imagined it must have been quite the resplendent sight.

The helicopter set down on the landing pad, which was connected to the main building of the mansion by a concrete pathway. As the rotors died down, an impeccably well-dressed man in a suit approached them from the house, illuminated by powerful lights lining the ground along the pathway.

Shayu was mildly surprised at the man's attire, given both the area and the time of day. He had brown hair, slightly greyed with age, and had the look of a consumate professional.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," the man said with a distinct British accent. "I am Walter, Master Al-Daran's chief butler. You must be quite tired. Please allow me to show you to your accommodations for the night."

" _We won't be meeting him until morning, then. I suppose that is for the best,_ " Shayu thought.

"Thank you," the Director said, nodding in appreciation. "We could all certainly use our rest."

The butler led them into the mansion. Unlike the exterior, the interior of the mansion was well-lit, and Shayu could easily make out its features. The hallways were adorned with an intriguing variety of art, none of which she had seen before. Abstract sculptures, realistic landscapes, portraits...their host was clearly a great patron of the arts.

Shayu noticed that each room had a distinctly different feel from the other. Indeed, the first room they passed through had walls of marble, opulent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and a luxurious red carpet, rimmed with a gold leaf design. While the hallway connecting that room to the next retained those characteristics, the next room was entirely different. It had a Victorian era feeling, with a dark wooden flooring and a comfortable-looking armchair in front of a currently vacant fireplace. Tall bookshelves made of a light-colored wood - teak, perhaps - lined the walls in the spaces between the windows.

Tired as she was, Shayu found the bizarre style of the mansion oddly captivating. The artistic spirit inside her, long abandoned, was inspired. She silently told herself that she would very much like to explore the mansion in the morning, if the mission allowed it.

It didn't take long for them to reach their rooms - there was one for each of them. Thanking the butler, she let him close the door behind her, and stepped inside. While the bed was an immediately seductive option, Shayu forced herself to remain alert.

After a quick sweep of the room, Shayu was confident that the room had no bugs or other observational devices. Her mind eased, she got into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

"Thanks, Liz. I'll take him from here," Captain Marai says, pulling a manila folder out of her desk.

"Right. Take good care of him!" Surge replies, showing herself out of the officer's barracks. "I think Hamid has got real potential."

"Obviously," the Captain snorts. "He wouldn't be here if he didn't." She waves as Surge leaves. "See you. Say hi to Arkady and the others for me."

The Captain sighs and turns her attention to her folders and papers as the door shuts. I suppose it's almost my turn to talk. Still, I wait to speak until spoken to, and review the events of the last day in my head...

Even with Ms. Rellick's approval, my acceptance to XCOM headquarters was tentative. I had to wait in their strange aircraft for a while, as they decided how to proceed. Eventually, I was blindfolded, and guided to a room where I spent most of the day in. They even assigned a guard to me. He was very apologetic for the whole situation, and repeatedly explained that is was all for the sake of security.

I didn't mind. For a holding cell, it was a comfortable room.

Then, this morning, before the sun had fully risen, Ms. Rellick had come for me, guiding me here. I was glad to see her again, even if she did make me wear the blindfold once more.

...I hope that I won't need wear it for much longer. I want to begin contributing as soon as possible.

The Captain clears her throat. "Alright, we've got some quick paperwork to get out of the way before we can get started. Let's begin with your name."

"Hamid," I answer clearly.

She frowns. "Hamid what?"

I blink twice, not understanding.

"Your last name," she says dryly.

I grimace. That wound is no longer fresh, but still bites deep. "I...no longer have one. I renounced it."

She looks at me for a second, but shows no signs of surprise. I suppose she's heard all kinds of stories similar to my own.

"I'll put down Hamid Noname, then. Can always change it later. Age?"

"Sixteen."

She goes on to ask me several questions about my physical characteristics. Weight, blood type, medical conditions...I answer to the best of my ability.

"Alright, that'll do," she says after a few minutes of writing down my responses.

She stands up and stretches out her hand, which I shake tentatively.

"Congratulations," she says laconically, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "You are now officially an XCOM trainee. Yes, that means no more blindfold. Yes, you get to start today. Yes, that means I'm your superior now. You will address me as 'Captain'. Any questions?"

"No, Captain."

She nods, satisfied. "Alright. Follow me, then."

* * *

"Hmm," the Captain remarks, just loud enough for me to hear. "Everybody's up on time today. Guess that means I don't have to yell. How nice."

She knocks three times on the door to get the attention of everyone inside. Standing behind her and to the side, I can't yet see through the doorway.

"At ease," she says. "Change of schedule today, rookies. There's one new addition joining you."

She looks at me and gestures her head towards the doorway. "Go introduce yourself." She steps back to allow me through.

...

This is...unexpected. The barracks, lined with bunk beds, is full of a mere ten people. Most of them look very close to my age.

In Midnight Liberty, I worked almost exclusively with adults. Here, the oldest person can't be more than twenty. It almost feels like introducing myself to classmates back in school. The thought puts me at ease, and I smile a bit.

"Hello," I say. "My name is Hamid. I am from the city of Luxor in Egypt. I hope to work well with everyone."

The other trainees nod and mutter greetings. A girl with a ponytail, at the far end of the room, crosses her arms and stares at me with an indiscernible expression.

"Today," the Captain says, "And _just_ for today...we will be taking an hour out of PT and putting it into marksmanship, instead. Yes, that means breakfast an hour earlier."

The trainees look at each other excitedly, traces of sleep vanishing rapidly.

"Retter. You're the most familiar with this place. After breakfast, take that extra hour and show Hamid here around the base. Then, both of you come to the range. Understood?"

The girl with the ponytail uncrosses her arms and nods. "Yes, Captain."

I hadn't noticed before, but she seems to have naturally white hair.

How bizarre.

The Captain nods. "Good. Alright, all of you out to the training yard! Don't think you're getting off easy with an hour less time, because we're going to working _twice_ as hard!"

The trainees file out of the barracks in a line, jogging off towards some unknown location. The Captain steps out of their way and turns to me.

"That includes you," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Fall in."

I wait until the last trainee, the ponytail girl, exits the barracks, and start jogging behind her.

...finally. Now we're getting somewhere!

* * *

My first hour as a trainee was an interesting one. True to her word, the Captain worked us intensely - there was no time to converse with my new comrades. But I picked up a lot of things just by watching and listening to the others. The raggedness of their breathing, for example. I could tell that most of them were not used to heavy physical strain, judging from their panting and slack posture as I passed them on the running track.

But more than that, it was the way they carried themselves. The uncertainty hanging over them was as clear as day to me. They are not used to this - physically _or_ mentally.

...I suppose it is unfair of me to think that way. These are not soldiers. These are civilians _becoming_ soldiers, and have probably only just started.

The ponytail girl, though. She is different.

The physical exercises wind her, but nowhere near to the degree as the others. And she stands up straight, completely certain of her path. She _is_ used to this.

I caught her gaze, once. A simple thing, a quick dart of the eyes as we passed each other. But even that was enough to tell me a great deal about her. Even with that quick glance, her eyes, cool and collected, were evaluating me. She must have noticed how the exercises did not exhaust me to the extent of her fellows.

I get the feeling that she must be the one Ms. Rellick was referencing earlier.

* * *

"Hey. Hamid, right?" Ponytail girl walks over to me as I put away my empty breakfast tray. She had finished her food even faster than I had, and silently watched me from a distance as I ate.

She offers her hand out to me. A test?

I take her hand and shake, trying not to be too firm or too soft.

She nods, satisfied. "I'm Selena."

Farewell, Ponytail Girl.

"Hello, Selena," I say. "Nice to meet you."

She leans back and places a hand on her hip. "You already know to eat quickly," she says, glancing at my empty tray. "That's good. The others had to learn that the hard way."

I nod and say nothing. I get the feeling she's going to offer me subtle tests for some time to come.

...and I feel oddly compelled to impress her.

"Well, let's get going. There's a lot for you to see. I bet you're pretty eager to see what was kept from you, huh?"

"It is nice to have the blindfold off," I agree.

* * *

It was easy to see why the XCOM base is such an important secret.

That enormous hulk of metal lying in the excavated sinkhole...it was beyond my wildest imagination. I _still_ can scarcely believe it.

The ambition of it all! Can they really repair such a thing?

Selena seemed confident that they could.

She had shown him the officer's barracks, the entrances to the underground tunnel network, the medical facilities, the break room, and the landing pads. While the base was a relatively small area, it was heavily compacted, and made the most efficient use of its space possible. They were almost out of time, but there was still more to see.

"And over there's the general barracks," my guide said, pointing to a group of small buildings in the distance. "That's where most of the people here live. Trainees like us live in separate barracks - the ones you saw two hours ago. The most important people, like the Intelligence Director, get their own rooms."

Selena frowns and glances at the position of the sun, shielding her eyes with one hand. "If we had more time, I'd show you around the tunnel network, but that could take a while. There are a lot of rooms down there. Then again, most of them need security clearance..."

"How do you get security clearance?" I ask.

She cocks her head, speaking more to herself than me. "We get the first, and lowest, level of clearance after we complete training. Anything higher than that is given on a need-to-know basis."

"Thank you for showing me around," I say.

I'm getting more and more curious about this girl. How is it that she knows so much? She told me that she and the others had been training for barely a week!

She shrugs. "I was ordered to. I mean, I probably would have done it if you asked me, though."

She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. "Well, whatever. Come on, we'd better get to the practice range before it's too late."

* * *

The chiming sound of a small bell draws Damien's attention towards the opposite end of the round, mahogany dining table. The butler from the night before, Walter, clears his throat.

"Ahem. Breakfast is served. Please, enjoy yourselves. Master Al-Daran will be joining you shortly."

Servants appeared from the kitchen, carrying several platters of incredibly appetizing food. Their breakfast was as varied as the design of the mansion - there were all kinds of food, inspired from several different regions. Soup, eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit, sausages, and more. Damien _was_ quite hungry, having not had a decent meal since a late lunch at the canteen yesterday. Still, he had enough sense to be a polite guest, and ate slowly.

The food tasted as good as it looked. Judging from the faces of his comrades, they were as blown away by it as he was. The food at XCOM headquarters wasn't terrible. The first time he ate there, he was quite surprised at how good the cooks could make a MRE taste. But this...he could get used to this.

"The _meat_ ," his boss cried. He had his fists clenched, and it almost looked like he was about to start crying tears of joy. "It's been too long since I've had real meat!"

A lot of XCOM operatives had become _de facto_ vegetarians since joining. Not necessarily out of choice, but necessity. Real meat was an increasingly hard commodity to come by, even in the wealthy cities. With ADVENT taking control of more and more agricultural industries, they controlled the production of food. It was their decision who got fed, where they ate, and what they got to eat.

It was another terrifyingly effective means of population control. Even the seemingly innocuous ADVENT burger, a delicious yet nutritious (according to ADVENT) fast food meal, was an insidious way to influence people. Get them hooked on your product, make it cheap and accessible, and give them no alternative. Who would ever want to go back?

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Mohammed," said an accented male voice from behind Damien. "I instructed the kitchen staff to go all out today."

Damien turned in his chair to see a man approaching from one of the connected hallways. He had short, black hair, parted left, and had a thin, well-trimmed beard. He was dressed casually, in a collared white shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He wore a charismatic smile upon his face, and stepped over to greet each XCOM operative in turn.

"Rashid Al-Daran," he said, firmly shaking Damien's hand. "A genuine pleasure to finally meet you all."

Damien, Shayu, and Meltdown politely returned his greetings, but said no more. This was Boss's show, after all.

Mr. Al-Daran sat down on the opposite side of the table from the four. Two servants brought out more platters for his breakfast.

"If it's all the same to you," he said, unfolding a napkin. "May we hold the business talk until we have finished? I prefer not to mix work with food."

"I am more than content to agree," Boss said. "This is an exquisite meal. Please give my appreciation to your chefs."

He laughed once and reached for his silverware. "I will do so. I'm sure they will be glad to receive an opinion other than my own, for a change."

* * *

The group ate slowly, resisting their trained instincts to wolf down their food as efficiently as possible. It was a challenge, but Kenji savored the meal as much as possible.

Eventually, everyone ate their fill, took sips of water, and dabbed at their mouths with napkins. The servants returned, and began to clear away their plates.

Al-Daran sighed contently and stood up. "Well then. If you would care to follow me?"

The group excused themselves from the table and followed him through the hallway that he came through earlier. It led into one of the rooms they had passed through last night - the wooden, Victorian era room with the fireplace and bookshelves. Kenji silently questioned the logic of having a fireplace in a mansion in the desert, especially one that had electric lighting.

Perhaps it was an artistic thing.

"I have always been one to favor direct and honest talk," Al-Daran said, sinking into a padded armchair, one of several in a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. The four took the other chairs, with the Director taking the one next to their host. "I trust that will be preferable to you, Director Mohammed?"

"Very much so, Mr. Al-Daran. I appreciate you being so accommodating," the Director said, smiling wryly.

" _The two act so similarly,_ " Kenji thought. " _Perhaps they are long lost brothers._ "

"Well, I suppose I shall begin." Al-Daran cleared his throat and stood up.

"We both took a large risk in meeting today," he began, addressing the Director directly. "Neither of us would have agreed to meet if we did not already consider the prospect of a partnership a possibility. No...rather, we are here to decide if a partnership would indeed work. And if XCOM is as capable as I have been led to believe, then I believe it will indeed work."

His charismatic smile transformed into fully serious, negotiating mode. Al-Daran crossed his arms behind his back.

"But XCOM's capability is indeed the operative. As such, I have come up with a test of skill. Complete it satisfactorily, and we shall be allies. But before I reveal what that task is..." Al-Daran turned his head towards the doorway and spoke clearly. "Bring it out."

The head butler appeared, flanked by two other servants. Each was using a dolly to wheel out a large, metal crate. The three stopped and carefully unloaded the crates onto the floor, bowing politely and leaving without a word.

"I understand that you need proof of my commitment, as well," Al-Daran said, bending over to press a release switch on one of the crates. It opened to reveal several canisters full of a luminous blue substance. "If you intend to restore that alien wreck, you will need more than a few drops at a time."

The Director's eyes went wide. "This is..."

"Refined elerium," Al-Daran nodded, still completely serious. "I trust you understand how valuable this is. ADVENT excessively monitors all elerium refineries. Conveniently losing a few crates is no simple feat."

Al-Daran adjusted his feet and put his hands behind his back again. "From this moment on, they are yours. You may leave with them right now, if you wish. Consider this my...initial investment."

"An investment, you say." The Director exhaled sharply, amused. He did not know the man especially well, but Kenji could tell that the Director quite liked Al-Daran.

"Yes," Al-Daran nodded, becoming serious again. "Unlike so many others who have partnered with the aliens, I understand that there is no future with ADVENT. Theirs is not so much a lust for power as a _demand_ for it. They will only continue to hunger for more control, more resources. They will take everything from us, and we will applaud them for it. So, yes, I understand that this is not a business deal. This is a... _very_ long term investment."

The Director nodded gravely. "I understand, Mr. Al-Daran. Believe me." The Director shifted in his chair and interlocked his fingers. "Now, as for this task that you would ask of us..."

"Three days and two hours from now," Al-Daran began immediately. "An ADVENT cargo ship will arrive in Yanbu. It is carrying a great deal of raw elerium, intended to be shipped to the refineries here."

Al-Daran's brow furrowed, and his fists subtly clenched in a subdued disgust. "I want you to destroy it."

"Are we meant to destroy it at sea?" Damien asked sarcastically. "I don't think we have any submarines lying around, unfortunately."

The Director glared at his subordinate, but Al-Daran laughed. "No, no! I did not expect that you would. Destroying it in port will have to do. Although, you must do so before it can unload its cargo."

"I'm sure you of all people are very aware of this," the Director said solemnly. "But raw elerium is extremely volatile. Destroying an entire ship's worth will unquestionably cause civilian casualties, as well as heavy damage to the docks."

"A two pronged test," Al-Daran admitted. "Both of your ability and willingness to do what must be done."

The Director nodded and rose to his feet. Kenji and the others followed suit. "If there is nothing else, I would like to begin preparing immediately."

Al-Daran stepped back and bowed slightly. "By all means. Feel free to request any items or services that you may need."

"I have a question," Shayu said quietly. The Director turned to look at her in surprise.

"You own the refineries in this region," she said. "Won't destroying a ship full of elerium hinder your ability to aid us?"

"Money is of little concern to me," Al-Daran said. "As I said, ADVENT will take everything. No amount of money will save me from that. I simply consider that loss to be part of the cost of my investment."

"That isn't what I meant. The destruction of an ADVENT cargo ship will cause security in the region to skyrocket."

"Ah," Al-Daran hummed, catching her meaning. "You are concerned I will not be able to send you material when faced with higher scrutiny."

Shayu nodded.

"As I said, this is a _long_ term investment. We need not take the most direct - and easily detectable - route. The details will be decided in the future, but I never planned to ship material from Yanbu in the first place."

Satisfied, Shayu nodded again.

"Then I shall leave you to plan," Al-Daran said, bowing and leaving the room.

The Director turned to his three subordinates. "You three head for Yanbu, immediately. Ask Al-Daran's drivers to bring the least conspicuous car. I will remain here and relay this new information to headquarters."

"Understood, Director," the three said.

Kenji was beginning to suspect why the Director had hand-picked the three of them for this mission.

* * *

It took just over an hour for the three operatives to reach Yanbu's docks. They decided to split into two groups - Damien would survey the civilian docks to the north, and Shayu and Kenji would monitor the designated ADVENT dock to the south.

The two had moved from place to place, watching the happenings of the port from the city sidewalk. People and cars went about their daily routine, while criers tried to draw up attention for the shops in the area. After several hours of observation, the sun reached its peak in the sky.

Kenji sat down on the opposite end of the bench Shayu was sitting at, carrying two cans of coffee he had bought from a street vendor.

"Come up with anything yet?" he asked her.

"Not yet," she replied quietly. "A ship docked earlier. I observed the entire unloading process, which took about two hours. The private ADVENT dock is extremely secure. They have a White Knight flanking either side of the entrance, along with a handful of grunts. Single officer controls the gate to the road. It has all the trappings of a standard security checkpoint, as well. Barriers, tire traps, cameras..."

"That does cripple our options somewhat," Kenji sighed, handing her a can. She accepted it gratefully, and popped it open.

"I believe I understand why we were chosen for this task," she said after a long drink.

"I believe I know what you mean," Kenji said. "What I cannot understand is how the Director seemed to know this ahead of time."

"He must have had some idea of what to expect. Still, this is..."

"Extreme?" Kenji finished, taking a sip of his drink. The two continued to act nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact as part of an unspoken agreement.

"It wouldn't be the first time we've engaged in what could be called terrorism."

"Let's not go there," Kenji grumbled. "Not here."

"Fine."

The two were silent for a while. Kenji watched a father order an ice cream for his two daughters, some distance away from their bench. Shayu crossed her legs and watched a plane fly by, far overhead.

A man carrying a newspaper crossed in front of them, and Kenji caught a glimpse of the main article.

" **Chaos in Luxor as violence erupts; Dozens dead...** " The paper had the image of the city's central ADVENT garrison, with an enormous hole blown out of the side. Kenji was surprised that the censors let that through - it meant that the fighters had claimed more than a few kills of their own.

It made Surge's and the others accomplishment all the more impressive.

Eventually, his mind wandered back to the problem at hand.

"Could we use a drone, maybe?" he suggested. "Have it drop a bomb onto the ship, or maybe kamikaze it?"

"Drones are prohibited around the port area," Shayu replied, still looking at the plane. "And they are loud. It would be noticed very quickly. Perhaps if the drone was quiet and fast enough...but if such technology exists, we lack it."

"Could we hit the deck with a launcher?" Kenji regretted the words even before they left his mouth. Still, better to at least voice all potentials...

"Of course not. The range we would need to have any chance at escaping would leave little to no accuracy. It's unlikely a single missile or grenade would land a suitable hit, either."

"No chance of a direct attack," Kenji said. "Maybe if we had about a dozen more people, and heavy weaponry to spare."

"Direct attack," Shayu muttered. "Hmm."

Kenji leaned forward. "I know that hum. What are you thinking?"

"We may be looking at this from the wrong angle. Let us go see what Specialist Black has learned."

"Alright."

* * *

Damien whistled through his teeth. "Pretty bad over there, huh? Suppose that was to be expected. ADVENT ain't one to skimp on security."

"What have you learned?" Shayu asked.

"Not much. All of the docks are occupied. One ship left and was quickly replaced."

Without the aid of ADVENT automatization and mechanical lifter bots, unloading a ship the traditional way took much, much longer.

Damien shrugged. "It's a pretty standard port operation. Ships come in, cranes unload the containers, the containers get loaded onto trucks, ships get new containers. There isn't security so much as surveillance. A handful of guards, armed with stun guns. Civilian docks mostly rely on their security gates, though."

Kenji looked up. Sure enough, an enormous cargo crane was lifting a huge red container off the deck of a docked ship. Kenji paused and considered this. If the crane of the civilian dock closest to the ADVENT dock were to rotate completely around...could it drop something on the ship?

...no. It would only reach maybe halfway.

"I do have _one_ idea," Damien admitted. "But let me hold off on that. I, uh, need to get permission to tell you about it."

Damien whipped out the phone from his pocket and quickly typed together a text message.

_Can I tell them about the new acquisition?_

He received a reply within ten seconds.

_Yes_

"Alright," Damien beckoned the two to come closer, and spoke in a hushed tone. "We recently got this new kind of explosive. It's called X4. Basically an improvement on regular plastic explosives. Increased blast force, but the real draw is the armor penetration. It's proven to be extremely effective at destroying buildings and structures. I imagine that would transfer over to cargo ships reasonably well."

Kenji might have started to salivate at the thought of such a powerful explosive, if he hadn't been so distracted. For some reason, he felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough, though he wasn't sure why. He rubbed his temples, and tried to follow the invisible idea.

"That's excellent news," Shayu said. "But I'm not sure how it will help us here. There's no way to get close enough to the dock to set charges."

"Not from the land," Damien smirked.

Shayu frowned. "We already ruled out the possibility of a drone bombing. There's no way it would reach."

Damien laughed. "Not from the sky, either."

...

The sky...wait, the sky? Could that work?

" **Ah!** " Kenji gasped, clutching his chest. "I've got it!"

Damien and Shayu rushed to his side. "What? What did you think of?"

"I've got it," he repeated, excitement flaring in his eyes. "I've got it, but it's going to require some math." He turned to Damien. "I need some tools. Something for measurement. And...and dock worker uniforms."

Damien frowned. "I don't think we can trick the ADVENT guards with a simple uniform."

It was Kenji's turn to smirk. "Not them. _Civilian_ uniforms."

Damien arched an eyebrow. "I don't get it, but I think I like where this is going. I'll see what I can get us."

* * *

"Hey, Retter. Come here a minute." Captain Marai waved Selena over as the rest of the trainees filed away from the firing range. Their responsibilities now over for the day, they were free to spend the evening hours as they saw fit.

Selena shared a look with Hamid and Emilia, her two partners for the day, and they shrugged.

"Don't wait for me," she said. "I'll see you guys later." They nodded and left with the others.

Walking over, she saw her instructor was frowning and had her arms crossed.

"Am I in trouble, Captain?"

"No." Captain Marai shook her head and readjusted herself, placing a hand on her hip. "What's your take on the new recruit?"

"He's capable," Selena admitted. "Surge - I mean, Sergeant Rellick - told me that he fought with her in Luxor. So he probably already knows most of this." Selena bit her lip. "Why does my opinion matter, Captain?"

Her instructor ignored the question. "Boy has the look of an outcast. Try and make friends with him, if you can."

"Um...alright..." Selena thought that the Captain might be implying something, but she wasn't sure what.

Captain Marai chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. "And your opinion matters because I asked for it, rookie. Go on, I'll see you tomorrow." She turned and began to walk away.

"Captain?" Selena took a step forward.

Her instructor stopped and turned around on a dime. "Something else?"

"Ah...um, nevermind..." Selena swallowed a lump in her throat.

Captain Marai frowned. "Out with it, girl. What is it?"

Selena grimaced and gripped one arm with her other hand. "Well, I...I realize this probably isn't acceptable of me to ask, but...I was wondering if you...if you could tell me about the first XCOM, sometime?"

The Captain's eyebrows raised in surprise. It had been some time since anyone asked her about that. "Do you really want to spend your free time listening to me ramble?"

"Yes, ma'am!" she said exasperatedly. "I mean, yes, Captain. I really do."

...ah, now it made sense.

There weren't too many original XCOM veterans here. As far as Captain Marai knew, Selena only knew two of them: herself, and Director Mohammed. The Director was far too busy to entertain her with storytime, obviously. But herself?

" _She is technically your boss's daughter,_ " Nami thought.

"Sure, I guess. Why not?" She gestured her head towards the direction of the officer's quarters. "C'mon. We can talk in my office."

* * *

Nami poured a glass of water for herself and Selena. She would have loved nothing more than to kick back in her comfortable chair with something alcoholic, but it was far too valuable to drink on a whim. Even for an officer.

"Well, let's see..." Nami hummed, sinking back into her chair. Selena sat in a simple wooden chair across from her desk, the same one where Hamid had sat earlier in the day. She gripped her glass of water with both hands, and sat on the edge of her seat.

She smiled a little at the sight. "You can relax, you know."

Selena nodded and scooted further back, but remained rigid and attentive.

"You probably have a lot of misconceptions about the original XCOM," Nami started. "A lot of those are probably intentional. We have propaganda too, you know."

Nami took a sip of water and sighed. "XCOM was the graveyard of careers. It was a huge secret, so nobody got to _volunteer_ to go there. You were chosen - and an offer was made."

Nami finished her drink and leaned forward in her chair. "There were two criteria that had to be met. First, you had to be good. Really good. Didn't matter if you were a soldier or a scientist. They didn't take nobodies. Second - you had to have done something wrong. Crossed a line, pissed somebody important off. Personally, I was facing a choice between a court martial or a new life in XCOM. They made it sound like this great big promotion, but anyone with a lick of sense could read between the lines. It was just a way of getting rid of me. I was too useful to just plain kill or imprison."

Selena curled a finger over her lips. "That means my parents were forced there, too, right?"

Nami nodded. She felt a little guilty about breaking the girl's illusions. "Uh huh. I don't know your Mom's story, but I heard the gist of your Dad's. Keep in mind this isn't one-hundred percent accurate."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed, beginning to speak again. "He was a military expert attached to the UN. Part of a global anti-terrorism force. It itself was pretty secretive, so you won't find any mentions of it in old news articles. Anyway, there was some kind of incident in Russia. Your dad defied orders and came up with this crazy plan...and it ended up totally succeeding. He saved tons of lives, and accomplished the mission, to boot. But he also angered his bosses, and was recalled."

"What did he do to make them so angry?" Selena asked. "And why would they punish him for _succeeding?_ "

"I don't have the full details, myself. You'll have to get 'em from someone else, like Director Mohammed. Or better yet, your old man himself," Nami smirked.

"One day, I will," Selena promised softly. "What was my Dad like?"

"He isn't the mythical figure some of us have hyped him up to be," Nami said. "He was just a man. But man oh man, he was an interesting one. Say what you will about him, nobody can deny that he was a natural leader. Everything about your dad just... _screamed_ confidence. His posture, his voice, his gaze...I was a squad leader from almost first contact with the aliens, so I was in close contact with him for most of the invasion. Got to know him a tiny bit."

"I never once saw him lose his cool. And...and he was just kind of different, really. None of us had ever had a CO like him. He interacted with us in person...most of us were used to the 'higher ups' just being this invisible force that came through the radio. He wasn't like that..." Nami trailed off and poured herself another glass of water. Selena continued to carefully sip at her first glass.

"The whole atmosphere of XCOM was kinda like that, actually," Nami resumed. "There was the normal camaraderie from fighting together of course, but... it was like we were on another level. We were all exiles, stuck together. I always found that kind of comforting."

Nami was quiet for a few moments. Eventually, she laughed to wake herself out of her nostalgia. "Aren't you tired of listening to me ramble, girl?"

Selena shook her head vigorously. "No, Captain."

Nami sighed and smiled. "Heh...fine. What else I can I tell you about...ah, I know. There was the one time..."

* * *

**CLASSIFIED: SECURITY LEVEL 4+ REQUIRED**

**-ACCESS GRANTED-**

**Operation: Sunken Cost**

**March 9, 2032 - 08:52**

**Objective: Destruction of ADVENT cargo ship carrying unrefined elerium shipment**

**Area of Operation: Yanbu, Saudi Arabia**

**Mission Status - In progress**

"I can see the ship pulling in now. Are you in position?" Shayu whispered into the communicator hidden in her collar. It had taken some minor alterations, but Al-Daran's butler had managed to procure two uniforms identical to those of the civilian dockworkers, as well as the various tools Kenji requested. At first, she didn't understand why he needed a laser designator. Now, though...

She shook her head. It was an insane plan, but one likely to work.

If his math was right.

"Relax," Kenji muttered. "You know I used to be a building demolitionist before all this."

"I am relaxed."

With their plan confirmed, the Director had opted to return to headquarters with the crates of Elerium. He fully expected the plan to succeed, but even so, could not risk lingering around unnecessarily. Mr. Al-Daran's private helicopter did not return empty, however. The Director had arranged a rush order for the engineering team, and they had delivered a few select items back to Yanbu...

"All good on my end," Damien's voice finally crackled through, his voice partially distorted. "Just waiting for your signal."

"Understood," Shayu said. "We're moving in now."

She glanced at Kenji, and they both nodded, simultaneously moving to cross the street. Shayu had to reign herself in, trying not to act _too_ confident. It was supposed to be just another day at work.

Well, for Shayu, this actually might not be too far off.

* * *

Shayu's voice crackled through Damien's ear-mounted transceiver.

"We've cleared the entrance checkpoint," her voice said. "The IDs worked perfectly, and we're moving on."

Ah, that was reassuring. It cost him the better part of yesterday, but he had managed to steal the wallets of a couple drunk dock workers. It helped that he was the one who got them drunk in the first place, under the guise of sharing a few drinks paid for by an interesting stranger. With a little help from Al-Daran's network, they had managed to create two fake identification cards for Meltdown and Shayu - near perfect forgeries.

Damien mentally checked off another number on the list. Only a few more obstacles left.

"Ship has docked," Shayu's voice came through again. "You are clear."

Damien would have grinned if he could. "Understood," he replied.

Twenty five feet beneath the surface of Yanbu, Damien double checked his rebreather and readjusted his grip on the handles of his small, cylindrical vehicle. Confirming the contents of his satchel one more time, he activated his Diver Propulsion Vehicle and began to creep along the floor of the harbor, hugging the seabed as he made a direct line for the ADVENT cargo ship.

* * *

Crouching behind a shipping container, Shayu whispered into her communicator, this time addressing Kenji instead of Damien. The two had split up shortly after passing through the entrance gate, but were merely taking different paths to the same objective.

"Confirmed," she said. "Crane is unoccupied."

"Then I'm moving in," Kenji replied, in a similarly hushed tone.

The previous two mornings, she had watched this particular crane like a hawk. Each time, at exactly nine in the morning, the operators had left the crane, presumably for a rest break, and returned fifteen minutes later. Damien had confirmed this information with his plying of the drunkards he befriended yesterday - each crane operator was legally required to take breaks to remain alert.

Shayu wasn't exactly required for this plan. Kenji and Damien could have carried it out alone, if necessary. Still it was _always_ helpful to have at least one person serving as a lookout. True enough, she could see Kenji hustle over to the unoccupied crane, climbing the ladder to the control booth at the top two rungs at a time.

From her position, Shayu was hidden from almost all directions. To her left was the ADVENT dock, helpfully obstructed by an enourmous red shipping container. To her right was the other civilian docks, also blocked by a shipping container. A number of crates and pallets piled both in front and behind her left her well concealed. The only way anyone would find her is if they came up right behind her.

"Hey, what are you doing?" asked a male voice from behind her.

...damn it. Just like that.

She turned her head around. A short, portly man was standing behind her, his arms crossed and head tilted.

"Hello?" he asked sarcastically. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes immediately darted to his left and right. Thankfully, he was alone.

Shayu wasted no time coming up with an appropriate lie.

"I found something," she said, trying to sound as puzzled as possible. "I think one of these containers might have been damaged. Come here, do you know what this is?" Shayu beckoned him towards her and gestured to the space near the crates in front of her.

The man grimaced and stepped over reluctantly. "Just so long as it isn't coming out of my paycheck...what did you find?"

"A fool with bad timing," she whispered.

"Uh, what did you just sa- _hnrrk!_ " Shayu spun around the man, fast as the flickering flame of a candle. She whipped out her concealed pistol and clobbered the man in the back of the head with it. Crude, but she didn't have any other means of pacifying him, and she didn't want to kill needlessly. Shayu leaned over to catch the man's crumpling form before he could collapse onto the crates. She spun around in a complete circle, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one else was coming.

She felt the faintest tinge of sympathy for the man, but the mission was too important. She did, at least, confirm that the man was still alive, before pulling him behind the shipping containers, completely out of view of the rest of the dock.

"Had to silence a nosy worker," she said into her transceiver. "Pick up the pace, you two."

* * *

With one final, hurried survey of his handiwork, Kenji wiped his brow. The crane's control booth was a simple matter that didn't require any degree of precision. This part, however, had to be perfect. He had calculated as much yesterday.

"Done," he said into his communicator. "Proceeding to rendezvous point."

Kenji crumpled his now-empty cloth sack into a ball and threw it into the waters below.

...it would work. He was sure of it.

Even if it didn't, for whatever reason, Damien's work would probably be enough on its own.

He snorted with annoyance and began to walk briskly back towards the entrance gate of the dock.

When it came to hurting ADVENT, there was no such thing as overkill.

* * *

Damien cut the engine of his DPV and started climbing the ladder of his rendezvous boat: an unassuming, small yacht. He struggled a bit, having to hold onto the DPV with one hand. Walter, the butler, leaned over and looked down at him, extending a hand to help him up. He gratefully took it and was hoisted up onto the deck.

He placed his vehicle on the deck and took the rebreather out of his mouth. Damien laughed and gently pounded his chest with a clenched fist in excitement.

"Ah, _man,_ does it feel good to get back to my roots!" he said excitedly.

"You must be quite the interesting fellow to consider underwater demolition part of your roots," said Walter, the man who had helped him up.

"Former Navy SEAL," Damien explained, beginning to peel off his wetsuit.

"You're quite the interesting person yourself, Mr. Walter," he said, genuinely impressed by the butler's talents. "Is there anything you don't know how to drive?"

"That's very kind of you, sir. I simply have a natural inclination towards vehicles of all sorts, I suppose. Judging by your good mood, I take it you were successful?"

It occurred to Damien that he probably shouldn't be _happy_ , given the high chance of collateral damage. He bit his tongue and coughed.

"Uh, yeah. All done."

"Then I shall take us to the rendezvous point with all haste," Walter said.

* * *

Walter took Damien to the shore. Within five minutes, he had been picked up by a black Mercedes with heavily tinted windows. Shayu and Kenji were waiting inside. Shayu had the window seat opposite him, and was observing the dock with a pair of binoculars. Kenji occupied the middle seat, and held a detonator device in one hand.

"Let's go," Damien said, climbing in. The car began to move before he could even fully close the door. There was no time to waste - the crane operators were due to return any moment now, and they wanted to avoid unnecessary casualties.

From their current position along the street bordering the docks, they had a clear line of sight to both the ADVENT ship and the civilian crane. They had to detonate now, before they lost their angle.

Damien held out the detonator. "You want the honors, Shayu?" he asked.

"There is no honor in this," she said bitterly, passing the binoculars to Kenji. She crouched down low so he could lean over her shoulder. "Look at the crane."

Kenji peered out the window, and swore under his breath in Japanese.

"There's someone climbing the crane," he explained, voice dark. "We were too slow."

Damien felt like his heart skipped a beat.

" _And to think I had the gall to feel happy,_ " he thought, gulping.

"This is my fault," Damien said, recoiling his hand. "I was too slow, too careful. I'll do it."

"No," Kenji growled. "It was my plan. I will take responsibility."

Damien looked Kenji in the eyes. He was gravely serious.

"We will lose our angle in sixty seconds," the car's driver warned.

Damien nodded, and handed Kenji his detonator. Kenji flipped the protective cover off of his own detonator.

" _The poor son of a bitch,_ " Damien lamented silently. " _He doesn't even get to die instantly._ "

Kenji pressed the first button on his own detonator.

* * *

Two miniature packets of C4, attached to the two legs of the crane closest to the ADVENT dock, detonated simultaneously.

The crane immediately crumpled down a few feet, crashing hard against its own dock...

...and began to lean towards the ADVENT ship.

Time seemed to slow as the three operatives watched the towering structure tumble over, leaning further and further across the water.

The metal screamed and cracked under the intense pressure, and sparks flew as the metal ground across the concrete of the civilian dock.

Kenji flipped the protective cover off of Damien's detonator.

The falling crane picked up speed, and finally slammed directly into the deck of the cargo ship with an enormous _crash_. The ship began to sway to and fro from the force of the impact, waves bouncing off the port walls like a giant bathtub.

The control booth was positioned perfectly, resting right on top of where the elerium tanks would be stored. It was too far to be certain without binoculars, but Kenji swore he saw movement in the booth of the crane.

" _Sayonara,_ " he whispered.

He triggered the remaining explosives.

Four X4 explosives detonated in an instant. Two of them were attached inside the control booth of the crane - it brought Kenji some small comfort that the operator surely died instantly. The other two X4 packets were attached to the ship's hull, beneath the waves. Damien's underwater demolition plan probably would have worked as a suitable failsafe, had the crane plan not worked.

But oh, how it _worked._

The effects were immediate. The ultra-powerful explosives punched through the thin plating of the ship's deck, and reached the elerium tanks stored below. The unrefined, supremely-volatile material went critical, and the world froze to cower in the wake of the resulting explosion.

A shockwave let loose as an enormous, blue fireball burst from the ship's interior, pillowing high into the sky. As bright and energetic as a newborn star, the explosion ripped through the ship, triggering the remaining stores of elerium to detonate, as well. A multitude of similar explosions happened within seconds, and the ship was reduced to mere ribbons of metal.

The ADVENT dock was all but annihilated. The mechanical White Knights, the Troopers, the security barriers - all were wiped away in an instant.

Recovering from the initial sight, people began to scream just as the shockwaves hit the street. They were strong enough to shatter windows, knock people off their feet, and rattle the parked cars.

The screaming resumed, erupting into full blown chaos. People sprinted away from the scene, cowering and ducking behind dumpsters. Cars took off at dangerous speeds.

But the XCOM operatives did not stick around to witness their handiwork. Their driver had already turned onto the next road, heading back to the Al-Daran estate, where they would be able to return home via helicopter.

"We did what was necessary," Shayu remarked. "We must continue to believe in our cause."

Damien agreed, but did not voice it. He slumped against the window of the car, disgusted with himself.

He wasn't sure how many innocent people had just died, but it was one too many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had to do quite a bit of research for this chapter. I'm sure there's probably a couple factual mistakes in there somewhere, but I'm satisfied. This chapter was a blast to write, I've got to say! (Get it? Blast?)
> 
> I'm also quite pleased with myself for coming up with what I consider to be a very clever title and operation name. For this chapter, I started with the idea of collapsing a crane loaded with explosives onto a ship, and then worked backwards from there.
> 
> This chapter saw the proper introduction of Hamid, another person who was forced to become tough at a young age. What happened to make him the way he is? You'll find out sooner, rather than later.
> 
> The next chapter will focus pretty heavily on Selena, as we've got a timeskip coming up soon.
> 
> A sincere thank you to all of those who have favorited this story and sent me reviews or messages. I enjoy reading your thoughts!
> 
> That's all for now. Until next time!
> 
> -Spiner
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a dropbox link can be found by searching the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom). Simply search for 'Revenant' and you should find a relevant thread.
> 
> Likewise, if you're simply interested in seeing an image album of what all the characters look like, that can be found here: imgur.com/a/3UG51


	8. Chapter Eight

A loud, repetitive clanging noise woke Emilia with a jolt.

"Up and at 'em, rookies! All of you have one minute to get outside!" Captain Marai shouted from the barracks doorway, banging a ladle against a metal cooking pot. Behind her figure, Emilia could tell that it was extremely dark outside, probably well past midnight.

Oh, so that was it.

The stress shoot...Selena had warned her that this was probably coming up soon.

Over the last few weeks, Emilia had found that Selena's words were true: she had grown accustomed to firearms much faster than she had ever expected. What once took effort, she could now do without thought: she no longer fumbled the magazines, and her shot groupings had improved massively. Yesterday, she had even practiced disassembling and reassembling her weapon while blindfolded.

Still, today's test would be something different. Unlike their usual target practice, the stress shoot demanded that the trainees hit their marks under intense physical and mental stress.

"The Captain will wake us up in the middle of the night," Selena had warned. "Then she'll tire us out even more. Probably make us run laps or something. And _then_ we have to do target practice in the darkness."

Emilia swung herself over the edge of her top-bunk bed and landed gracefully. She moved to lace her boots on, softly humming a tune.

" _I've changed this much,_ " she thought. " _I can handle this, too. It's time to stop leaning on the others._ "

Emilia exhaled sharply and nodded fiercely, scaring her exhaustion away for a time.

"Let's do this!" she whispered, inaudible to anyone else, and charged outside.

She was the first one out the door, beating even Hamid and Selena. The Captain arched an eyebrow, amused and mildly impressed at the young woman's hustle.

"Ready, Captain!" Emilia saluted enthusiastically. Unable to fully contain herself, a thin smile cracked through her professional visage.

"We'll see if you're still smiling when we're done." The Captain snorted and waved her off, but Emilia could see the faintest trace of pride in her instructor.

* * *

" _Merde_ ," Emilia hissed. Lying prone on the dirt of the firing range, she couldn't see exactly where her shot had landed, but she knew it was off target.

Enthusiastic or not, this was _hard_.

The Captain had ordered the trainees to do two laps around the track - a half mile. They were ordered to jog their first one and a half laps, and sprint for the remainder.

Emilia found her mental fortitude tested as much as her physical endurance. Panting heavily as she struggled to keep her weapon steady, she silently repeated her mantra.

" _I'm strong enough. I can do this._ "

A bead of sweat dropped down onto her rifle. She wiped her forehead with her wrist and resumed her firing position. Emilia was beginning to understand how a strong mind was just as necessary as a strong body.

"That was pretty sloppy, Mercier," the Captain's voice taunted from behind. "You sure you don't need to take a breather?"

This, too, Emilia understood. The Captain wasn't truly mocking her (well, probably). For trainees, the drill instructor was meant to embody your doubt. Captain Marai would voice the thoughts that Emilia wouldn't dare to admit that she had.

_You're not good enough._

_You always need to be rescued._

_You can't do anything._

Emilia knew better than to get up, having heard the Captain scold someone further down the range a minute ago.

"There are no breathers in war, Captain!" she shouted, loosing another round towards her target.

...

A perfect bullseye. She couldn't see, but she knew it.

"Feh," she heard the Captain click her tongue in annoyance. "If you can still come up with oddly poetic crap like that, I must not be working you hard enough!"

Captain Marai stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.

"All of you, back to the track and jog another lap! And if you're over two minutes, it's KP for you in the morning!"

"Yes, Captain!" Emilia pushed herself to her feet and slung her weapon over her chest. As she dusted herself off, she spotted Selena jogging towards the track. While she wasn't drenched in sweat like Emilia was, she was clearly pushing herself beyond her limits. Catching Emilia's eyes, Selena gave her an assuring nod.

Emilia returned the nod and began to jog after her.

" _I'm strong enough. I can do this!_ "

* * *

Nami sighed and slouched back further into one of the couches of the recreation lounge.

While electricity was too precious to use on electronic entertainment, the rec lounge was still a hotspot for stress relief. There were tables to play cards or board games on, or maybe just arm wrestle. The room was air conditioned and had a ceiling fan to circulate the air, it had a cooler of cold water, and it had a bunch of reasonably comfortable couches.

Which made it all the more unusual that the small building on the surface level of the base was empty. She had figured that, at noon, at least a few people should have been milling about on their breaks.

She herself wouldn't normally be there. For almost every day of the last month, noon was reserved for training the rookies with firearms. Today, though, she had given them free time as a mercy from the hell of the stress shoot. She still made them do their morning PT, though. Nothing short of a sandstorm would stop her from enforcing that.

The sound of the door creaking open drew her attention. Grunting, she gripped the couch and pushed herself into an upright position.

"Catching a nap?" asked a dry, masculine voice with a light Russian accent.

She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I was honestly starting to consider it," Nami admitted. "And hey. Where were you yesterday, Arkady? You and Kenji didn't show up for poker. Very uncharacteristic."

Arkady moved over to Nami and sat down in an armchair adjacent to her. He clutched a white plastic bag in one hand, the unknown contents bulging against the thin lining.

"Was sent on another supply run," Arkady said, crossing one leg over his knee and beginning to rustle around in his bag. "And you'll have to ask Kenji why yourself."

"You've been getting a lot of those lately." Nami mimicked his posture and crossed a leg over her knee, as well.

"They are simple. I don't mind them." Arkady pulled a bottle of clear liquid out of the bag, and held it out for Nami to see.

She whistled, throughly impressed. "Holy shit, genuine vodka! You got _that_ from a supply run?"

"A gift from Josef." Arkady allowed a faint half-smile of appreciation to creep upon his face, a truly rare sight.

"God bless Karrick," Nami said.

Karrick Outpost was unique in that it was built from the ground up wholly by XCOM. Unlike most of the other resistance havens, it was intended to serve in a wholly strategic capacity, and did not cater to a civilian populace. Still, its leader, Josef, had a knack for smuggling, and occasionally managed to snag bonus items for his friends.

Arkady pulled a stack of paper cups out of the bag, and cocked his head at Nami. "You want some?"

She coughed, surprised. "What, _now?_ Christ, what's the occasion?"

"Why wait?" Arkady snorted. "Could be dead next time there's something worth drinking for."

Nami sighed and nodded her consent. Arkady started to pour two cups worth of vodka.

"I might have laughed if you didn't remind me so much of my uncle. A thorough alcoholic, that one, and a real fan of gallows humor. Always joked about the ways he could end up dying."

"I doubt he was a resistance fighter, though," Arkady countered. "And I just consider myself a realist."

"Ironically, he was a personal trainer, before he got fired for being drunk on the job. Great at motivating others, couldn't do shit for himself."

After all these years of being a soldier, even after accepting the reality of taking lives and losing friends, Nami was never comfortable with the dark humor Arkady enjoyed. And while the man was technically her subordinate, and a few years younger than her, she respected him enough not to push the point.

" _People deal with stress in different ways,_ " she reasoned.

Arkady finished pouring and handed her a cup.

"To your uncle," Arkady said, gesturing with his own cup.

"Fuck my uncle," Nami spat. "He was a depressing asshole. Let's drink to something else."

"To not being dead, then."

"Good enough, I guess. Cheers." The two gently tapped their cups together and took eager sips of the vodka.

Nami recoiled, blinking fiercely. "Woo, that's some strong stuff! Almost feels like sacrilege to drink it from a paper cup."

Arkady took a small drink and relaxed his muscles contently. It _was_ strong, even for him.

The two were quiet for a while, and enjoyed their drinks in peace.

"Oh, right," Nami said, breaking the silence. "Rookies are coming along pretty well. Think it's about time to start moving on to exercises and more practical shit. Can you help tomorrow?"

Arkady took a deep breath through his nostrils.

"...alright," he said, taking a final sip and finishing his drink.

"Huh. Expected you to put up some more fuss than that."

"You caught me in a good mood," he deadpanned.

"Well, alright then," Nami chuckled, standing up. Stretching her arms above her head, she grunted as one of the joints in her shoulder popped. "Think I should back to work. Thanks for the drink, I'll return the favor sometime."

She waved as she headed for the door. "See ya."

"Mmm." Arkady merely hummed and lazily returned her wave, moving to pour himself another drink.

* * *

"Forty eight...forty nine...fifty!" Specialist Damien Black grunted as he let go of the pull-up bar and dropped the ground. He bent over to catch his breath, panting as a few beads of sweat dripped down his well-toned figure. Wiping his forehead, Damien reached for his shirt, hung on the pull-up bar above his head.

He stuck two fingers to his neck to check his pulse.

...it was good, but he could do better. He had to _be_ better.

That crane operator in Yanbu had died because of him. Meltdown and Shayu didn't agree, but Damien still felt that way. He was too slow, and someone innocent had died because of it. When the ADVENT investigators finally finished their analysis of the port, they concluded (correctly) that it was a terrorist attack that had claimed the lives of five civilians.

...five civilians. It was a better number than he had expected. But it could have been better.

The operation was extremely effective, that was certain. It was true, they had inflicted millions of dollars worth of damage, and that wasn't even factoring in the loss of the invaluable elerium shipment. It was true, they had sent nearly three dozen more ADVENT abominations to hell. And Al-Daran had held up his promises, arranging the first supply pickup last week.

...none of that did much to help his guilt, though.

Damien threw his shirt back on and stretched out his arms.

Doing pull-ups wasn't going to improve his underwater demolition skills...but it was better than just sitting around feeling like shit.

"Oh, if it isn't Specialist Black." A polite, feminine voice from behind his back drew his attention. He turned around to see a brunette Canadian woman, waving gently at him.

Hammer's markswoman. Chalk, if he remembered correctly.

"Oh, hey there, uh..."

Shit. He didn't remember what her rank was.

"Chalk," he finished awkwardly.

"Emily is fine," she said, covering her soft laugh with a hand. "If Damien is fine with you?"

He nodded. "Sure, works for me. So, what brings you out to the training yard?"

"Training, perhaps?" Emily asked innocently, without a hint of sarcasm.

"Uh...yeah. I guess that would make sense."

Emily laughed again, not bothering to cover it this time. "Sorry. I was just teasing."

Damien noticed the Canadian accent on her apology. _Surry._

"Actually, I was just on my way to the firing range," Emily explained. "The trainees aren't using it today, so I figured it would be a good day for some practice. What about you? How's your workout going?"

"I was just killing time, really," Damien said, rethinking some of his initial assumptions about the woman. He didn't know her well, but the personality she had here was wildly different from the cold professionalism he had caught a glimpse of back in Luxor. She was interesting, in more than one way.

...actually, maybe he could talk to her about that. He couldn't give any details of what exactly he did, as Sunken Cost was a Class 4 Op, but...who knows? If nothing else, the opportunity to take his mind off Yanbu for a while would be very welcome.

"Would you mind if I came with you?" Damien asked. "I could probably use some practice, myself."

She nodded. "Sure, the more the merrier. Shall we go?"

Damien gathered his things and began to walk with Emily towards the firing range.

"You know, something just occurred to me," he said. "You seem very different from when we rescued Midnight Liberty."

"Do I?"

"Yeah. You look...carefree, I guess. You seem like the kinda person who has a relationship with stress like a duck's back has with water."

Emily laughed and crossed her arms behind her back. "That's certainly a...creative analogy. But, I believe I understand what you are trying to ask. It's something my teammates have asked me about before."

She gave a quick sigh. "I'm afraid my answer will be unsatisfactory. It's something I have given a good deal of thought towards, but have never found a sufficient answer. I suppose...it just comes naturally to me. 'It' being my 'serious face', or, more precisely, my ability to manage stress."

"You know, it's strange," she continued. "Did you know that before all this, I was a teacher?" Emily stopped walking, eyes looking out beyond the horizon and into the past, a wistful smile on her face.

"I didn't," Damien admitted, stopping beside her.

"I taught elementary. Young children. Do you have children, Damien?"

He shook his head. "I never married."

"I find children wonderful. I always wanted to be a teacher, to help them learn and grow. It was truly invigorating to be so often surrounded by such youthful optimism and curiosity."

Damien had to pause to remember that this woman held the highest killcount of anyone in the entire base by a significant margin.

Emily turned towards Damien and did a sort of curtsy, presenting herself to him. "Elizabeth - or Surge, as you know her - calls this my 'gentle face'."

"Sergeant Rellick, I remember."

Emily sniffed and resumed her earlier posture, standing up straight with her hands behind her back.

"But you can't merely be a child's friend. As a teacher, you must be fair, but firm. Positive reinforcement - praise and approval - must go hand in hand with negative reinforcement. Punishment, and discipline. When you correct improper behavior with punishment, you must be stern. I dealt with many parents who were too weak-willed to use proper discipline, and their child suffered for it. The opposite is true as well, naturally...overuse of punishment can be just as devastating to a child's development. I learned this fairly early on, even in my own childhood. I suppose...that my perception of that duality heavily influenced me, and led to my personality today, where I slip between two faces without a waking thought."

Emily frowned. "I am sorry. I know that wasn't the answer you were looking for."

Damien put up his hands in protest. "No, I shouldn't have pried..."

She gave another smile, both amused and sad. "But you didn't. I shared it of my own volition."

"Still, though..."

Emily cleared her throat. "If you don't mind...could we change the subject to something else? It's not that this is a painful or uncomfortable subject for me. I'd simply prefer to take the time to do some introspection before continuing. There are some questions I'd like the answer to, myself."

"...alright. I'd like that. Maybe over lunch, next time our schedules cooperate?"

Emily covered her laugh. "My, how suave!"

"I didn't mean it like that," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

He rubbed his chin, putting on the mockery of deep reflection. "Although, now that you mention it..." Damien equipped his most charming smirk.

"Impressive recovery," she said, smiling. "I suppose you were entitled to a little payback."

* * *

"You know, they made koshari today," Shayu said to Kenji as she sat down opposite from him at the canteen table. She gently placed her her plate down on the table, full of a hearty serving of koshari, a local Egyptian dish made of rice, lentils, macaroni, various vegetables, and optional hot sauce. It was a far cry from the food she was traditionally used to, but Shayu was never especially picky about her food. Besides, it was actually quite delicious.

"I saw," Kenji replied. He had one elbow on the table, balancing his chin on top of his fist, head aimed low.

Shayu frowned and put her fork down, pausing to observe Kenji for a while. He hardly moved, and made no indication that he noticed her observation.

"How long are you going to act like this?" Shayu asked, her usually neutral tone giving away a trace of disapproval.

Kenji jolted a little and blinked at her. "What, not getting food...?"

Her eyes narrowed coldly. "You know what I mean. It's been a month, now."

Kenji sighed. There was a long pause before he resumed talking. Shayu made no movements, and watched him like a hawk.

"It's isn't as easy for me as it is for you," he said softly, looking over her shoulder.

"You're a soldier," Shayu said. "You kill people, and innocents die in war. This is not unknown to you."

"Of course I know that."

Shayu's frown relaxed a little, and her voice grew a little less hostile. She crossed her arms horizontally on the table and leaned closer.

"What is it, then?" She asked. "Why do you still struggle with this? Do you need to see one of the psychologists?"

"I'm not traumatized," Kenji growled, emotion returning to his voice. "I know what PTSD looks like. I know what it feels like. This is not it. I just need to..."

Kenji turned away and sighed again. "I don't know what I need."

Shayu slapped her palm against the table and stood up, staring down at the surprised Kenji with a stern, focused gaze.

"I do. Spar with me." Her voice was firm and commanding.

Shayu's unexpected flare of emotion forced Kenji out of his gloomy ruminations.

"Now...?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her arms.

To an outsider's eye, the notion of the two sparring would probably have seemed ridiculous. After all, Kenji was significantly larger than her, and probably weighed over twice as much as Shayu did. In reality, however, Shayu was a very agile combatant, and a highly skilled martial artist. Dancing around Kenji while striking at his weak points, she won their duels more often than not.

"Yes, _now_. Clearly, whatever you're doing isn't working. So we're going to take your mind off of it."

Kenji couldn't help but smile a little. Shayu didn't get worked up like this for just anyone: it meant she was genuinely concerned about him. And she was probably right. No amount of moping around, trying to rationalize things was going to make him feel better. He owed it to himself, to his comrades, and to XCOM, to move on. What he did may not have been right, but being a mournful waste of space was unquestionably wrong.

"Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "You're on. Loser owes the winner lunch."

* * *

A vast expanse of reddish-brown dirt and rock spread across the horizon as the evening sun began to set over the XCOM base. At the farthest corner of the training yard - the outskirts of the base - Captain Marai positioned herself and the trainees so that the harsh sun would not glare in anyone's eyes. She cleared her throat and began to address them, the sun casting her shadow far as she gestured.

"Alright, everyone. Now that you've been here for a bit over a month, I'm sure you're beginning to get an idea of what's required of you as a soldier. You're starting to get tougher, learning how to deal with stress and exhaustion, learning how to shoot a rifle. If you were desperate, you could call that 'enough'. Stick a rifle in their hands and slap 'em on the back, send 'em to combat."

Nami shook her head and adjusted her posture. "Luckily for you, though, your lives are a little more valuable than that. You all still have a _lot_ of skills left to learn before you stand a chance in the field. We're going to be adding some variety to our routine, now that you've learned the basics. We're going to start on two of those right now, which is why we're out here."

Nami turned around to gesture with her arm at the structures behind her. It was a highly varied array of walls, nets, raised buildings and platforms, tires, and other things, all arranged in two identical lines. A number of tall floodlights were scattered around the obstacle course, currently inactive.

"Up until now, all you've done is run laps around the track. In reality, things are rarely so nice and flat, without anything in your way. The course behind me is designed to build your flexibility of movement - your mobility. Anyone care to tell me what _other_ skill the course will train?"

No one spoke or moved, and Nami rolled her eyes. "The other skill is _teamwork_. Learning to trust and rely on your teammates. Merely doing the same things together isn't enough; now you have to do things that depend on their cooperation. This course is designed so that not everyone can do the same obstacle at once - you have to wait for one person to go at a time. There are a lot of obstacles that are impossible for one person to do alone, too."

"Now, from a distance, it may not look all that difficult, but we'll see how things go once you have to run it for the third time in a row in full gear." Nami chuckled in anticipation of that day to come. Putting teams of rookies through hell was one of her favorite parts of this job. Not from a point of sadism (though she couldn't deny _some_ enjoyment from their suffering), but from a point of pride, of watching them push their limits further and further.

"Now, what's better to encourage results than a little competition? You'll notice that there are two identical courses. That's because you'll be splitting into smaller teams and competing against each other for the best time. Since there's an odd number of us, five of you will wait and watch while the first two teams run."

Nami donned an amused smirk. "Oh, and I forgot to mention...winning teams get an extra hour of free time the next day."

The trainees excitedly looked at each other and mumbled in hushed tones. An hour of extra free time meant it would be coming out of their evening training - an enticing reward, indeed.

Nami laughed once and clapped her hands. "Alright, let's get a move on! Selena, Emilia, Hamid, you're team one! Take the far course. Arthur, Peter, Anne, you're team two. Take the near course. I'll pick the other teams afterwards. Let's move out!"

* * *

"Are you two ready?" Hamid asked, nodding his head towards his teammates.

"Yep," Selena answered calmly, continuing to rotate and massage her shoulder.

"Yes! I promise that I won't slow us down!" Emilia answered enthusiastically, pumping a fist.

"Let's just focus on doing our best," Hamid said, giving Emilia a reassuring smile. He was genuinely impressed with how much she had changed over the last weeks. When he had first met her, she was a meek, skittish thing that metaphorically clung to Selena for support. Recently, though, she had shown a strong desire to stand on her own feet, and had tried to be as helpful to the others as possible. Although, it was perhaps too strong of a desire.

" _She may be pushing herself too hard,_ " Hamid worried to himself.

"Yeah, right," Selena scoffed. "We're going to _win_ this. Right, Emi?" Selena outstretched a flat palm towards Emilia.

"Right!" She slapped her own against it for a satisfying high-five.

A shrill whistle drew their attention to the Captain.

"One last thing before we start," she said, standing in between the two courses. A number of other instructors were on standby in between the courses, as well. "The vertical challenges have nets to catch you, in case you fall. Which you will. Just remember to cover your head when you fall, even if you are above nets. Everyone got that?"

The two teams murmured their acknowledgment.

"Alright then, let's get this show on your road. On your mark..."

Hamid stepped forward and crouched into a ready position. The first obstacle was a set of nets laid horizontally, very low to the ground - they had to crawl under them.

"Get set..."

Selena and Emilia mimicked his position. With his peripheral vision, he could see the other team copying it, as well. With these final seconds of preparation, he flashed through the rules in his mind. They couldn't move on to the next obstacle if a teammate was still on the previous one. If they went around any of the obstacles, they forfeited. If they tried to interfere with the other team, they forfeited. Other than that, they were allowed to tackle the obstacles as they saw fit, but they had to finish as a team.

From what he saw of the course as he walked over, it seemed like it actually might be kind of fun.

"Go!"

* * *

Hamid launched himself onto the dirt and began to scramble under the nets, propelling himself forward with his elbows and knees. He heard Selena and Emilia begin to wriggle through behind him.

"Blach!" Selena hacked behind him. He stopped and looked back to see her coughing and covering her eyes. He must have accidentally kicked some sand into her face.

"Sorry!"

"Shut up and keep going!" she barked.

They made it through the rest of the net crawl without incident. Emilia was a few seconds slower than Selena, but not by much.

Their next obstacle was a tall, wooden wall. It was flat, with no good positions to grip for leverage, and the ledge at the top was too high up to reach by jumping.

Selena instantly came up with a plan, moving over in front of the wall and sticking her hands out low to the ground, palms facing the sky.

"Emi, stand opposite me and hold out your hands like this. We'll fling Hamid up there, and he can pull us up."

As she got into position, Hamid glanced across at the other team. Their last member had just finished the net crawl, and it looked like one guy was trying to carry another on his back.

"Ready!" Emilia said. The two girls outstretched their hands, and Hamid stepped onto their hands. He supported himself against the wall with his arms to lessen some of their burden.

"Alright, on three, dip down and them throw him up," Selena grunted. "One, two, three!"

With a shout, they vaulted Hamid into the air. He didn't go very high, but he didn't need to. He managed to grip the top of the wall, and pulled himself over. The top of the wall was actually a long platform, leading to the next obstacle. He leaned over to see Emilia readying to jump. He managed to just catch her hand, and pull her up and over the wall with some difficulty. He repeated the maneuver for Selena, which was a bit easier, as she weighed less and jumped higher.

The next obstacle was straightforward enough. The floor of the raised platform ended abruptly, leaving a five-foot gap that had to be crossed by swinging across a pair of monkey bars, one person at a time.

"Oh, I'm good at these!" Emilia exclaimed. "I'll go first." The other two nodded and watched as she skillfully swung one arm after the other, wasting no time after gripping each bar. Selena went next, making it across in a similarly speedy fashion.

Not trusting his dexterity, Hamid took his time crossing, spending a few seconds to orient himself between each bar.

"You can do it, Hamid!" Emilia cheered for him as he swung across.

Finally planting his feet on solid ground again, he took a quick look over his shoulder to see that the other team had just made it to the top of the wall.

The next stretch of the course was fairly simple, forcing them to alternate between bursts of speed and careful precision. The wall platform ended ahead, a fireman's pole their only means of reaching the ground again. After that, they had to dash across a space filed with tires laid flat against the ground, hopping diagonally from the empty space of one tire to another. After that, there was a large log that spanned a ditch in the ground, and they had to spend some extra time on that after Emilia slipped off, landing uncomfortably on her rear.

The penultimate obstacle was an unusual one. A large wooden gate, with a criss-crossing of material similar to that of a medieval portcullis blocked the path ahead of them. Some instructions painted across the gate told them what to do: Hamid had to repeatedly crank a heavy mechanism that slowly lifted the gate. Emilia and Selena dashed through - Hamid was not allowed to use the gate. On the other side, there were two ways up to the top of the gate. Selena opted to climb the robe, planting her feet against the wood as she scaled upwards, while Emilia performed something akin to rock-climbing, using a few deliberate outcroppings to climb the wall.

At the top of the gate, Emilia and Selena had to simultaneously press buttons that dropped a flimsy rope ladder to the ground. Hamid found it difficult to use, as it kept swinging side to side, but he managed to climb to the top just as the other team managed to crank their own gate open.

Dropping to the ground, the trio then simply had to sprint to the finish line. The path was wide enough for all three of them to use at once, but it was filled with obstacles that they had to hurdle and vault over. Selena was very nearly the first to cross the finish line, but she overestimated the length of the last obstacle in her path, stumbling and face-planting into the dirt at the last second.

She blushed furiously as Hamid and Emilia helped her to to her feet in between fits of laughter. As she flecked bits of sand off of her face (again!), Captain Marai announced them the winners, and Selena couldn't help but smile and laugh alongside them.

* * *

Lily Shen ducked underneath a pair of thick, insulated cables as she led her guest through a debris-strewn hallway inside the Avenger.

"Sorry about the mess," she said. "We've still got a long way to go in here."

The metallic hallway was dusty, poorly lit, and smelled faintly of rust, but was clear enough to allow passage for two people standing side-to-side. Her destination, at the end of the hallway, was the newly excavated bridge of the wrecked ship.

Karim Mohammed crept under the hanging cables and waved her off. "Believe me, I understand the complexities involved in this work. It is no simple task."

Lily sighed in agreement. "This isn't just clearing a messy room. A lot of the stuff in here is a potential hazard. Jagged metal, dangerous fumes, unshielded elerium conduits...it's slow work."

Karim cleared his throat. "Besides, I am the one who asked to come here. Thank you for accommodating me."

Lily shrugged. "Sure thing. I take it you want a progress report?"

"I do," he admitted. "But I was sincere about wanting to see things for myself."

They arrived at the opening to the end of the hallway. Lily stopped and gestured her arm towards the connected room. "Well, take a look for yourself." Karim stepped forward.

The room was a moderately sized square shape, with four corners of guard railing creating another square in the slightly sunken center of the room. Unlike the hallway that had led him there, the bridge was relatively well-lit. Multiple lights embedded in the ceiling provided a reasonable degree of illumination. The room was surprisingly clean, with minimal signs of damage and decay. That was surprising, but it wasn't what had caught Karim's attention.

"The computers," he muttered. "The machines. They're active."

Rows of curved, smooth metal machines held an array of blinking and softly glowing screens and panels. One display showed what looked like a radar scan, another apparently needed some kind of hand-print identification. An alien hand-print, judging by the four fingers. One especially large machine took up almost the entire wall of one side of the rooms. A navigation computer, perhaps.

"It's actually pretty convenient timing that you asked to come here," Lily said. "I figured you and Central were going to want to see this."

She cleared her throat and began to deliver her progress report. "We're actually in pretty great shape, overall. The discovery that the bridge is so intact is great news. I was worried that the elerium circuitry to the bridge was probably damaged, but it was fine. Say what you will about the aliens, they build their stuff to last."

"And speaking of elerium..." Lily crossed her arms and looked at Karim with her head tilted to the side. "Wherever you're getting all of it, it's seriously accelerating our schedule. The core is almost 70% functional, now."

Karim's eyes went wide. "That's more than _double_ than what we were at previously! You accomplished all that in one month?"

Lily shrugged, but smiled. "Yeah. The core wasn't really damaged in the crash, it just lost all of its charge. Our 'repairs' to it are really more of a refill and reboot."

Lily's smile melted into a frown. "But this is where the problem starts. We're making excellent progress now. The core will be fully functional in another month, and we're making reasonably steady progress at clearing out the top levels of the ship. But...we're going to hit a wall soon."

Karim ran a hand through his dark hair. "Am I correct in assuming it relates to this room?"

Lily nodded. "It's the computers. It wouldn't be arrogant for me to call myself an expert in computers, but my knowledge is strictly limited to terrestrial machines. To put this as simply as possible, we need an expert in alien computing, or at least some kind of instruction primer. Trying to make sense of these machines without _any_ reference is about as effective as smashing my head against a wall."

Karim frowned. "I learned from Morgan Retter that you repaired some kind of alien drone you found in the ship. Did that not count as an alien computer?"

Lily shook her head. "I didn't even attempt to touch that thing's programming. I just fixed up its levitation pads, and it pretty much started on its own." She looked towards the ceiling in contemplation. "I'm actually not sure why it didn't treat me as an enemy. Perhaps it was just programmed to assist anyone in the ship, like the aliens just assumed nobody but them would ever be there."

Lily still thought that that was very strange. It wasn't like the aliens to be so...lazy.

"An expert in alien computing..." Karim crossed his arms and looked down. "I'll instruct our deep-cover recruiters to be on the lookout. Unfortunately, I don't anticipate we'll find one anywhere but in the megacities, and they'll almost certainly have to be a defector."

Lily sucked air in through her teeth. "Not an easy task, I know. But we _have_ to get one, if we're gonna get this scrap heap running."

Karim was quiet for a while, continuing to look down.

"Actually," he eventually said. "I may have an idea of where to start looking. Still, this will probably be a...considerably lengthy project."

He waved his thoughts aside. "I'll let Central know about these developments. In the meantime, would you show me the power core?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

Half an hour after Karim had left, Lily gave some instructions to the engineering team and left the Avenger, making her way up the spiraling ramp of earth. She normally just scarfed down a quick meal inside the crammed confines of the crashed craft, but she felt she deserved a break today. Finally clearing a path to the bridge was a pretty significant achievement!

That, and she had heard a rumor that the canteen might be having chicken today...

Near the top of the ramp, Lily had to press herself against the sinkhole walls as a crew of engineers appeared, each carrying a crate of construction materials. She greeted them, and finally stepped back onto the surface level. As she did, Lily noticed Morgan near one of the nearby buildings. She was lying on her back, on top of a towel, underneath the shade of the awning of the building. She held her hands behind her head, looking up at the sky.

Deciding to go say hello, Lily noticed a small stack of books, a paper binder, and a canteen on the ground next to Morgan.

" _Doing her homework, maybe?_ " Lily thought.

"Hey, squirt!" Lily greeted with a wave. Morgan looked over, but didn't get up.

"Hi, Lily," she said, her voice notably neutral. She lethargically waved one hand at Lily.

Lily stepped underneath the awning and sat down cross-legged next to Morgan.

"You seem kinda sad," she said. "What's up?"

"I was reading," Morgan sighed. "The Director was busy today, so he gave me these two books to start reading."

Lily leaned over to glance at Morgan's stack of books.

"On Guerrilla Warfare, by Mao Zedong," Lily read aloud. " And...The Art of War, by Sun Tzu."

" _Uh, wow. I guess this isn't exactly a book report,_ " Lily thought.

She noticed another, more colorful book. "And...is that a comic book?"

"Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson," Morgan explained. "He gave me that one just for fun. The Director said it's important to take breaks."

"That's true, it is," Lily agreed.

Morgan rolled herself forward, moving to a cross-legged position as well.

"I like it a lot," she added. "It's really funny."

Lily bit her lip. If it was so funny, why did she seem so down?

"Were you taking a break now?" Lily asked.

Morgan nodded. "I was reading for a couple hours, so I started watching the clouds."

Lily looked up. There were indeed a few fluffy clouds in the sky, laconically floating over the base. Morgan leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees.

"That made me start thinking about my mom," Morgan admitted, her head hung low. "And then that made me kind of sad."

"Yeah..." Lily mumbled. "I know what that's like. But do you know what the best cure is?"

Having lost her father four years ago, Lily knew all too well about those sudden bouts of melancholy. She wondered, though, could you miss something you never had? Perhaps the two sensations were different.

Lily forced the thoughts away. The cure was the same, either way.

"What?"

Lily scooted over and pulled Morgan close with one arm, giving her a side-hug.

"It's hugs," Lily laughed, affectionately ruffling Morgan's hair.

"I wasn't _that_ sad," Morgan giggled, leaning against Lily.

"I know. I would have felt it if you were _really_ sad, remember?"

"Oh, right."

Lily smiled, content to have cheered her up. Sometimes, Morgan felt like the little sister she never had.

She rubbed Morgan's shoulders. "How about we go get some lunch? I heard they have chicken today..."

Morgan perked up. "Ooh, really?"

Lily helped Morgan gather her things, and the two walked off towards the canteen, spirits significantly lifted.

* * *

Selena sighed contently, her stomach pleasantly full. She flopped onto her bunk bed, stretching out like a cat.

"Let's make sure we win all the future obstacle course runs," she said, rolling over onto her back. "This is great."

Their barracks was empty except for Emilia, Selena, and Hamid. The other two looked similarly content, taking up spots on their own bed. Hamid occupied the corner bed next to Selena's, while Emilia occupied the bunk above Selena's.

"The Captain is probably going to split us up, though," Emilia said, peering down over her bunk.

"That's true," Hamid said, sitting on the edge of his bed with his arms extended backwards. "We're probably going to have to compete against each other soon."

"Nothing we can do about that," Selena said. "Let's just enjoy what we've got now."

"Fair enough," Hamid replied.

Emilia rested her back against her own bed, while Hamid closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the chance to rest. The ceiling mounted fan whirred at a steady pace, keeping the room at a reasonably low temperature, even without air conditioning.

Some may have thought that they were wasting their precious hour of extra free time. But to them, using it to take a break and simply rest was a welcome reward for their victory yesterday.

"Emilia," Hamid said, opening his eyes and breaking the silence. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

She sat up and peered down at him. "Okay. What is it?"

"What did you do before all this?"

"Oh." Emilia blew a stray hair out of her face. "Well...I was in my first semester of university at the _Campus International de Cannes_. I didn't actually graduate from secondary school yet, I was just taking some classes in the summer. Anyway, I was in my third week of classes when the riots broke out. When they did, well...I kind of just got swept up in the chaos. I was one of the few that XCOM managed to save once ADVENT started slaughtering people in the streets. Someone caught my shoulder, and took me to their aircraft."

Two weeks ago, if asked the same question, Emilia thought that recalling the events that led her here would have made her miserable. Now, she felt only a bitter sense of loss, tempered by a determination to become a force against the injustice that tore her from her home and her father. Noticing Hamid's reaction to her darkening face, she shook her head and cleared her thoughts.

"And now I'm here," she concluded. "Volunteered the next day."

"You were going to study laws, weren't you?" Selena's voice asked from below.

"Maybe," she admitted. "You have to take general classes before you can work on your degree. I didn't get very far, but I had this introduction to criminal justice class...I really liked that one. Maybe I would have gone into that, who knows?"

"And...hmm." Emilia bit her lip in concentration before leaning over the bed to look down at Selena. "I just realized something weird. You guys want to know?"

"What?" Selena and Hamid asked simultaneously.

"Okay, so you guys know what the definition of homicide is, right? I learned this on the day before the riots. A homicide is the intentional or negligent killing of a human by another human. So you can't have an accidental homicide."

She shook her head. "But that's not the point. So, ADVENT, right? They aren't human. They're freaky half aliens. So according to the definition, their soldiers can't commit homicide."

"So they don't commit murder when they kill someone?" Selena scoffed in disgust. "Wonder if they ever tried to use that argument in court?"

"ADVENT are above the courts," Emilia said. "They don't get held accountable for anything."

She looked off to the side, making another uncomfortable realization.

"Looking back, I think my professor was trying to subtly tell us how awful ADVENT was," she sighed. "I wish I realized sooner."

"It's understandable," Hamid said. "Even outside of their own cities, they play propaganda all the time. In Luxor, it was almost impossible to get information from a source ADVENT didn't own. Other than word of mouth, I guess."

"You asked me a question," Emilia said softly. "Can I ask you one?"

"Alright."

"What did _you_ do before joining Midnight Liberty? And why did you throw away your family name?"

He ignored the fact that those were two questions. Hamid clicked his tongue and took a deep breath.

"I was born in Luxor," he started. "One year after the first anniversary of 'Unification Day'. My father had his own company where he designed robots for a living. He was successful enough that we lived pretty comfortably, and mother didn't have to work. Anyway, I was just a student. In my free time, I experimented in father's workshop. I liked making robots, too."

Hamid adjusted himself and sighed. He continued, his tone growing flat and monotone.

"But my parents fell for the alien's lies. One morning, they told me we were going to move to Babylon - to the Garden City. They were so sure that everything was going to be _so_ much better there. I..."

Hamid hesitated. He swallowed and resumed talking. "I learned not to trust anything from the aliens when I was young. I tried to convince my parents they were wrong, but...they didn't listen to me. We yelled and fought all the time, after that day. I started to avoid coming home as much as possible, and when I did, I tried to come only when they were asleep."

"One day, I had a really bad fight with my parents. A _really_ bad fight. I ran away that night, and stayed at a friend's house. I didn't go to school, I didn't go home. I stayed there for almost a week. That was where I met Mohammed - he was my friend's uncle, and he was the leader of Midnight Liberty, although I didn't know that at the time. Anyway, he convinced me to go home."

Emilia sneezed, interrupting his train of thought. He took a moment to ready himself.

"But they were gone. Mohammed asked my neighbor where they had gone...he told him that they had left for Garden City the day before."

"They _left_ you?" Selena asked incredulously, rising to a cross-legged position. "That's horrible!"

"It was understandable," Hamid shrugged. "It was that really bad fight where I said I would abandon my name and run away if they tried to take me to Babylon. Anyway, after that I stopped going to school. Mohammed took me in to Midnight Liberty and taught me in his spare time. And in return, I helped with the computers and things around the base. I insisted that they teach me to fight, too, though."

"That's...quite the story..." Emilia mumbled.

The three were bogged down in an awkward silence for a time, the ceiling fan being the only source of noise in the room.

Hamid gave Selena a curious look.

"What?" she asked.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What, my story? Didn't my sister tell you guys?" Selena huffed, looking to the side.

Hamid blinked. "You have a sister?"

Selena slapped both hands against her face and groaned. "Ugh...I forgot you haven't met her yet..."

"Fine," she sighed. "I guess it's only fair. Well, long story short, my Mom and Dad were members of the original XCOM. My Dad was the leader of it, actually. They both got captured by the aliens. On Dad's orders, Mister Br - I mean, Central Officer Bradford - took me and my little sister, who were both just babies, and went on the run. We basically moved from hiding hole to hiding hole for almost thirteen years before someone from the _new_ XCOM contacted him, and then they took us here. About a month ago I volunteered for soldier training, because I want to get my parents back. And my little sister is being taught by Director Mohammed on how to be an intelligence operative."

She snapped her fingers. "Oh, and my little sister's name is Morgan, by the way. I'll introduce you sometime." When neither of her friends spoke, she looked at both of their faces to see why.

Each of them had been shocked into silence, their mouths agape.

" _What!?_ " Emilia eventually managed to croak. "You're the _daughter_ of the leader of XCOM? That's...that's crazy! You're like...like, a hero in a comic book, or something!"

Selena blushed furiously. "That's just the way it is..."

"That explains a lot," Hamid mumbled.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Selena stood up, putting one hand on her hip and scrunching up her face in scrutiny of Hamid.

"I-it just meant, that must explain why you're so strong!" he backpedaled. "I always wondered about that!"

The two had become good friends over the last month, that much was undeniable. But Selena had a pretty strong competitive streak, and Hamid learned early on that she could be kind of scary when she got worked up. No doubt sharing her past had dredged up plenty of uncomfortable emotions, as it had for the others.

"I wondered that too, honestly," Emilia admitted. "Geez, I can hardly believe it. You and your sister were basically members of XCOM for your _entire life!_ " Emilia swung her body over the edge of her bunk and landed on the ground level. She climbed onto Selena's bed and took her hand excitedly.

"You've got to tell me!" She said. "What's your sister like? I never had any siblings of my own!"

Selena blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Well, she's really smart. Like, _really_ smart. And she's really, uh...bubbly?"

A sudden knock at the door drew their attention away. It opened to reveal one of the other trainees - a member of the team that lost the second obstacle course challenge. He waved to greet them.

"The Captain sent me to get you guys. We're all gathering in Room 31-U in half an hour," he said.

The three thanked him, and began to gather their things as he departed.

"Room 31-U," Hamid muttered. "That's underground, isn't it? What are we doing down there?"

Selena took a swig of water from her canteen and stretched out her legs.

"I have a hunch," she said. "If I'm right, it means things are going to start getting even more interesting."

* * *

As it turns out, Room 31-U was the armory.

The armory was a large, warehouse-like room, buried twenty feet under the surface. Access to the room was restricted by security level, and the trainees had to wait outside for a minute as Captain Marai got them temporary clearance. The entrance on the surface level was just a crude shack, but it held a staircase down, as well as a large cargo-lift that was used to transport the really heavy things.

The armory was a simple building, composed almost entirely out of concrete. It was divided into two sections - one area intended for easy, instant access, and the other for long-term storage. Forklifts and crates of munitions lined the far side of the room, while a dozen black-metal lockers held assault rifles, side arms, body armor, grenades, and other items ready to be taken at a moment's notice.

Barring any unexpected emergencies, the armory would remain empty for the remainder of the day. Captain Marai had decided it was an ideal time to introduce them to the gear they would eventually use in the field.

" _They've got a grasp on the basics of fighting,_ " Nami thought. " _But now they need to learn the basics of being a soldier._ "

She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.

"Alright, rookies, have a seat, 'cause we've got a bit to talk about." The trainees sat down on the cold ground in a row of five and a row of six, listening intently.

"You're all starting to get the basics down," she began. "But like I said yesterday, there's still a lot more for you to learn. There's a lot more to fighting than just being in shape and knowing how to use a gun. The obstacle course yesterday was just the first taste of that. Today, you're going to start learning the equipment you'll need in the future. There's a lot to go over, so I've asked my friend, Lieutenant Sokolov of Hammer squad, to help out. Lieutenant?"

Captain Marai gestured her arm towards the man lurking in the corner near the cargo elevator. None of the trainees had noticed him on their way down. He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and traipsed over to Nami, coming to stand in front of the assembled trainees. He stood slouched forward, with his hands inside his pockets. After a moment, he sighed, and straightened his posture, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He had the face of an unimpressed man who had seen it all before.

"Don't expect any inspirational speeches," Arkady started, shuffling his position. "You might have heard that I teach the rookies close quarters combat. Well, that's wrong. I teach _soldiers_ close quarter combat. I teach _rookies_ how to not die."

Arkady coughed. "There are a lot of weapons and techniques for you to learn before I'd call you soldiers. How to throw a flash. How to breach a room. How to use a grenade launcher. How to stop a bleeding wound...it is a long list."

"But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Today, and probably tomorrow, too, you're just going to learn how to _put it all on_. True, you won't bring every item for every mission, but you would be surprised at how much some extra weight can impact your performance. You'll understand what I mean when you have to run the team obstacle course in full gear for the first time."

Arkady rolled his shoulders to prepare himself for the dull horror that was instructing rookies.

"Let's get started."

* * *

_As the time I spent wasting away in absolute, dejected silence stretched on, apathy began to simmer into hatred._

_The ignominy of being abandoned was horrendous. I never thought the day would come that I would miss 'replaying' the invasion. Awful and pointless as it was, it was something to do, at the very least. What message are they trying to send, here?_

_In prior times, I had occasionally contemplated the nature of punishment. What was the worse punishment for a criminal: death, or life imprisonment? If the objective of a prison was to rehabilitate a prisoner, what was the purpose of locking someone away, forever? Which option was more effective in reality? Which was more just?_

_I long ago gave up trying to apply such reasoning to my own situation. I couldn't come up with any reason why they wouldn't have simply discarded of me long ago._

_Resentment crept into my mind for the first time in what could have been centuries. There was a sick satisfaction in being able to feel again. Even if the only feeling available to me was a putrid mix of disgust, shame, and mind-numbing anger._

_At some point, I resolved myself. The next time a living mind touched my own, I would make my presence known. I didn't care if they killed me or resumed the simulations. I refused to be left here in the void to rot!_

_And so I waited. I am unsure as to how long it took, but, eventually, I once more felt a consciousness nearby._

_Had I retained any degree of caution, I might have noticed that I was the one who initiated the contact. A previously unknown possibility._

_I lashed out with my mind, slashing at them with invisible claws. Deprived of my senses as I am, I was unsure as to what I even accomplished._

_But it was something. I felt the creature recoil, wincing as I unleashed a torrent of as many malevolent thoughts as I could, like a dam bursting open. For the first time in a very long time, my mind felt clear, and focused._

_In that moment, I was a_ _god, freed from my chains for but a moment. Even at the peak of my euphoric high, I knew that the victory would be short-lived._

_But I enjoyed it to the fullest._

_..._

_...now, I begin to realize the potential enormity of my error._

_It might have been better if I were to just waste away here. At least, that way, I couldn't have made things worse for anyone still out there._

_With whatever newfound senses that had awoken in me, I felt the intrigue of my enemies._

_I was so foolish._

_They do not merely abandon anything. They were simply waiting. And now I had done something new, demonstrated something unexpected._

_And so they had returned._

_Perhaps my naiveté can be forgiven, but I didn't think it was possible to have a more direct connection than having a literal computer implanted in your brain._

_The few inklings I scryed from the scurrying minds around me implied otherwise, and I found my potential future too horrifying to imagine._

_But the worst part about it? They knew that I knew a change was coming. They knew I was afraid._

_They moved quickly, at least...I wasn't left to wallow in despair for long._

_Something - I wasn't sure what - in my environment suddenly changed, and I could tell that I was somehow a step closer to freedom. And then, I felt it._

_A consciousness unlike anything I had experienced before. Pulsing with power, shrouded by unknown intentions._

_Something was happening to me. Something wrong, something_ _incredibly wrong. My pulse began to quicken, and I shuddered under the sheer weight of the creature's presence._

_And then it spoke to me, in a tone that might have been intended to sound comforting._

_But it only came off as condescending. Mocking._

_"Be still, child," it said. "Your future is bright and full of potential. We seek only to unlock the power that lies dormant within you."_

_"Lies," I spat, barely able to converse with the creature. I felt the strings of unconsciousness beginning to tug at the fringes of my mind._

_"We have never lied to you," it said. "We seek only to share our gifts."_

_The tugging escalated. I felt that I was only a few moments away from what very well could be my last conscious thoughts._

_I summoned the last vestiges of my willpower to remain awake long enough to deliver my ultimatum._

_"Whatever you're planning...you had better lock me up, and throw away the key...because if I get out, I'll return every 'gift' you've given me a thousandfold."_

_With one final tug, darkness completed its claim on me, and I was lost._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With this, we enter what I've taken to calling the Midgame. This chapter focused on human drama - building characters and whatnot.
> 
> I'd be interested to hear your theories on what's happening to the Commander...I've kept it deliberately vague. It's from his perspective, so of course he wouldn't know what exactly is happening to him.
> 
> Also, the next chapter will feature a timeskip.
> 
> I don't have too many thoughts off the top of my head, this time around...Breath of the Wild looks pretty great. I'll consider buying a Switch once more games come out for it, like Monster Hunter Doublecross and the new Fire Emblem games.
> 
> Again, all feedback is welcome. I read all of the reviews and comments that I receive.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next time.
> 
> -Spiner
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a dropbox link can be found by searching the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom). Simply search for 'Revenant' and you should find a relevant thread.
> 
> Likewise, if you're simply interested in seeing an image album of what all the characters look like, that can be found here: imgur.com/a/3UG51


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's reminder: we've jumped into the future! The present date is May 9, 2033, which is exactly fourteen months after Operation Sunken Cost.

Abraham Tannous was fully absorbed in the monotony of his morning routine.

It started like all the others. Rather than using an alarm clock, the artificial intelligence that managed the interior of his apartment slowly opened the blinds, allowing the increasing light and warmth to rouse the light sleeper. He remained in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling while not thinking about anything in particular. Eventually he yawned, got out of bed, and went into his bathroom. As he shrugged off his clothes and prepared a warm shower to freshen up, he verbally instructed the apartment AI to start brewing a pot of coffee.

After his shower, Abraham went to the kitchen and fetched a steaming cup of coffee. He savored the unique taste - a rich, earthy flavor - a significant difference from last month's stock. He told the AI to remind him to thank his sister for the gift. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, just above the refrigerator. Pointlessly, as he knew exactly what time it was. The fact that his routine was so incredibly predictable made his spirit sink, and he sighed in disappointment. It wasn't that he _hated_ having a routine. Routines are a normal thing that everyone has. But his...well, it felt inescapable.

Eventually, Abraham decided to settle for a bowl of oatmeal, an apple, and some sausages. Breakfast, at least, was something he could vary. As he ate at his breakfast table made of smooth, black wood, it occurred to him that the loneliness of his apartment might be adding to the problem. It was sleek, very clean, and very modern, that much was true. Indeed, he thought it was a very comfortable place to live.

But it was just too big for a guy like him. Sometimes, it seemed more like a small house than a mere apartment. He felt like he didn't deserve such a luxurious place to live. He certainly wouldn't have chosen it under normal circumstances, but his employer offered an extremely enticing discount on the room as part of their benefits. It actually cost him very little to stay there. Still, his ample collection of posters, books, and a few pieces of his sister's art only went so far, and the place felt decidedly empty.

Abraham ordered the AI to fully open the blinds of the dining room's windows. Moving over, he briefly examined himself in the reflection. Same short, black hair, same blue polo, same tan khaki pants. He wasn't too broken up about wearing the same thing so often. It was a decent look for him.

...at least his work didn't require him to wear a tie.

He turned his attention to the view outside the window. Abraham's apartment, located about halfway up one of the towering residential suites, had a rather spectacular vantage point.

A sprawling urban landscape stretched out beneath him. Near the heart of the city, Abraham could see dozens upon dozens of enormous structures, the majority of which were composed of a white metal that almost resembled plastic, and a great deal of glass. Some of the buildings were smooth and curved, others had smart edges that made the building a trapezoid. Some buildings were connected by raised tunnels, features that also doubled as billboards or places to hang flags and banners from. The city as a whole had a very clean and efficient feeling to it, a testament to outstanding skill in urban density and vertical engineering.

Abraham took a long drink of his coffee, sighing contently.

The city skyline was well-varied, but one feature that most buildings had in common was the rooftop solar garden. High-efficiency solar panels formed planter boxes that provided power for the building, while the gardens provided nutritious vegetables and even helped to reduce harmful emissions. After all, environmental conscientiousness and self-sufficiency were two well-infused traits in the populace, in both individuals and businesses alike.

Although...

For a city that prized itself on vibrant green and futuristic white, Babylon sure did look good when it was bathed in the fire-gold resplendence of the morning sun.

Abraham shook his head and stood up. He had spent enough time daydreaming, he had to get ready for work now.

* * *

Abraham yawned and straightened his back against the padding of the driver's seat as his car drove itself along one of the city's raised highways. The car was fully capable of driving itself, but you were still legally required to know how to drive it manually in case of an emergency. Not that that ever happened, really. Almost all accidents involving a self-driving car involved human error from a manual driver. A little bored, Abraham turned on the radio and leaned against the window, looking out over the city.

"...and that's all for the weather report. We'd just like to remind everyone that most of the area around City Hall today is going to be obstructed by the 18th annual Unification Day celebrations. If you're heading through that area, prepare accordingly and expect delays. Expect the Hanging Gardens, in particular, to be extremely crowded."

Oh, right. It was the Ninth of May.

Abraham never really cared much about Unification Day. The Elders had brought the world together, shared all kinds of amazing technical discoveries with them, but he didn't feel especially motivated to sing their praises for it. They had taken the initiative in the whole affair, after all. If anything, he felt it was a little arrogant to organize a holiday in your name after 'uplifting' a less-advanced species. Then again, Abraham wasn't an especially political person, and didn't care enough to voice any protests.

Plus, they were his employers...

"In other news, ADVENT has announced that the construction of two new cities has begun. The first, and currently unnamed city, is planned for Southern India, and will be the first Center of Progress in the region. Not many details have been released yet, but here's what we do know. Construction won't be completely finished until 2038, but ADVENT will be accepting eager residents as early as next year. When the first batch of residents are allowed in, the city is expected to have capacity for at least three million. When it is completely finished, there will be room for as many as twenty-five million people, rivaling the population of the region's largest city, Delhi."

That number shocked Abraham. Twenty five _million_ people? And building an entire city in just five or so years?

"That's insane," Abraham mumbled, giving a low whistle. He wouldn't have believed it, if the Elders hadn't proven themselves in the past. Their robotic construction workforce was really something else.

He wondered if he would ever get to see them in action. Maybe they would even let him examine their code, he could probably learn some things from it.

"And the second Center of Progress, named Kaiyoparu, will be built in Japan. Its name, which translates to 'Ocean Pearl', gives a hint to its theme. ADVENT has announced that Kaiyoparu will actually be built _off the eastern coast,_ and will be a self-sufficient city that _floats!_ Understandably, construction will take notably longer than the new Indian city. Initial habitation will not be available until 2037, and complete construction has yet to receive a date, but one official suggested it would probably be in the early 2040's. Population estimates have yet to be released."

Abraham turned to stare at the radio, his jaw dropping in stunned silence. A floating city! Holy shit, just when he thought they couldn't outdo themselves any further! He could only begin to imagine the complexities involved. Entirely self sufficient? That meant vertical farming, extensive recycling programs...oh, what he would give to get a look at the construction process there!

A sudden ringing drew him out of his daydreams. It was the control panel of the car, alerting him that he was receiving a phone call. He reached over and pressed the 'accept' button.

"Hey, Bro!" A chipper, feminine voice rung out. "How's it going? Heading to work?"

"Hey, Kari," he replied. "Yeah, I'm about five minutes away. What's up?"

"Oh, not much. Just wanted to check up on you. Happy Unification Day, by the way! Are you going to go watch the parades and stuff?"

"Probably not. How's my niece doing?"

Abraham changed the subject as convincingly as possible. He hated talking about anything to do with the Elders or ADVENT with his little sister.

" _Honestly, she can be so naive sometimes,_ " he thought, shaking his head. Luckily, she didn't seem to pick up on his change of topic.

"She's great!" Kari answered, cheery as ever. "Two weeks old now. She's messy, but is pretty quiet, actually. You know, it turns out that she actually would have inherited Roy's predisposition for heart disease, but the doctors caught that early on and managed to write it out of her genes."

Abraham happened upon the epiphany that the Elders placed a great deal of importance on code, both genetic and computer.

"Well, that's good news," he offered.

"Sure is! But enough about me, what about you? How are things going with the ladies?"

He almost snorted. "What do you think?" he answered sarcastically.

"I think you lack self-confidence, buster!" He could practically see her wagging her finger in front of his face.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but silently admitted that she was probably right. Abraham couldn't really see any reasons why a woman would be interested in him. He was pretty average looking, and his job wasn't especially cool, either. It paid incredibly well, but the thought of being with a gold-digger was just...depressing.

"Well, don't let it get to you," his sister's voice continued. "I'm sure you'll find the right girl eventually. You know, Mom and Dad didn't meet until they were almost thirty!"

Abraham gulped. The thought of being single for four more years was...unpleasant.

"Well, I think your niece is crying again, so I better go check on her. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay, later," he said.

Abraham ended the call. It was convenient timing, as his car was coming up on the turn that would take him to his work.

As his car drove down the offramp, Abraham looked at the statue of an Elder in the distance. The Elders were remarkably humanoid, with the exceptions of their slimmer bodies, four arms, and enlarged heads, smooth and ridged. Standing tall with its four arms outstretched, palms held upward, it almost looked like it was summoning the morning sun behind it.

* * *

Abraham strode towards his workplace with eager steps. There was no rush - he wasn't even close to being late - but the sooner he got there, the sooner he could get started. Abraham liked his job. It was challenging, well-rewarding, and he could see how it could make a positive difference in the world.

But most importantly, it kept him busy.

Abraham's workplace was a four story, square-shaped building, although the basement labs added a lot of space. Like most of the other buildings around, it was made of white metal and glass. Perhaps the most striking difference was the entrance to the building - a sturdy concrete overhang provided shade and shelter to those beneath it. Several columns, in the guise of humanoid figures, were spaced evenly. Unlike the regular ADVENT insignia, these minimalist ones had their four arms held up, making it seem as if they were supporting the building's weight.

The building's name was written on the glass next to the front door: "The Bureau for the Advancement of Technology". Logically, it would have made sense to abbreviate the lengthy name to 'The Bureau'. But for some reason, 'The Bureau' was never that popular of a title. Most of its employees simply called it 'The BAT'.

Or 'the Bat Cave', if you were childish, like Peters.

Abraham unlocked the door with his ID card, and did his best to avoid making eye contact with the receptionist. He made his way through the clean, white-tiled halls until he reached the elevator to the basement labs. The elevator gently rumbled as it carried him down. Alone, Abraham hummed softly to himself, eagerly awaiting the day's challenges.

* * *

"Project Lead Abraham Tannous, May 9, 2033," he began, speaking into the computer's microphone. "Prototype Thirteen-Point-Five. The drone prototype continues to have multi-tasking issues. Today's test will hopefully pinpoint the causes of the malfunctions we have been experiencing. I suspect the fault lies somewhere in the target-selection code, but as of now, that is only speculation. End recording."

The computer saved his video log and brought up the test management controls.

Abraham and two of his coworkers, Peters and Ali, were all dressed in labcoats. Standing at one of the observation windows, made of several inches of safety glass, Abraham leaned forward to peer down at the test course. The room below, white-tiled and sterile like the observation room, was a maze of thin, easily configurable walls. The maze came to an end, opening up into the wide-open other half of the room, where several test obstacles awaited.

Abraham turned his head to speak at Peters without looking at him, having to fight his urge to groan. Peters was a specialist on loan from the BAT in New Providence, the Center of Progress for the Northeastern United States. The man _was_ admittedly a good scientist, but he was also an asshole, who never really got out of his 'high school jock' phase. Which was admittedly a little strange, as Abraham had never met a computer scientist jock before.

"Are we ready?" Abraham asked.

Peters checked a few readouts on his tablet computer and gave Abraham an annoying grin. "All set, Abe!"

Abraham never said anything, but he knew that Peters knew that he hated that nickname.

"Then let's begin," Abraham said, keeping his composure. He returned to the desktop computer and typed a few commands. Then he leaned forward, so the microphone could clearly pick up his voice.

"Deploying drone for the first test of May 9, 2033...now."

Beneath them, a door slid open, and a tiny black robot powered to life, several blinking lights turning on. A little smaller than a shoebox, the drone was a wide, cube-like box that resembled a lightly-armored, miniature footlocker, or perhaps a fisherman's tackle box. If the tackle box was equipped with levitation pads, a flashlight, a speaker, a stun gun, and all kinds of cameras and sensors, that is.

The currently unnamed drone was the current result of the _Retina_ project, an ADVENT funded research program. The project aimed to create an autonomous, flight-capable robot that could monitor areas and subdue targets with a nonlethal weapon. It was intended to aid ADVENT peacekeeping forces, allowing them to pacify threats and survey dangerous areas without having to risk an actual officer.

"13.5 is the best prototype yet," Ali muttered softly. "I think we'll be able to fix the offending code soon enough." Ali was a Babylonian local, and was the lead designer of the drone's hardware. He was competent, and wasn't an asshole. That was good enough to get an agreeable nod from Abraham.

Below them, the drone had fully powered up and was beginning to float forward, navigating a path through the maze. It was quite slow when it came to turning around corners, but was otherwise very steady. When it came across the vertical walls impeding its path, it hesitated for a second, before ascending and then descending as it crossed the obstacles. Eventually, it came to the entrance to the open half of the room, and hovered idly.

"72.88 seconds," Abraham remarked. "About a two-second improvement over the last model. Those flight stabilizers worked pretty well."

"Thank you," Ali said, responding to the unspoken compliment. "But we'll have to see how well they hold up at maximum speed."

Abraham nodded and spoke into the microphone again. "Beginning targeting test."

He typed a command to raise the first target dummy and pressed enter. In the testing chamber, a cardboard cutout of a saluting ADVENT peacekeeper sprung upwards, directly in front of the drone.

The drone continued to bob up and down.

He typed another command, and a cutout of an angry-looking man holding a molotov cocktail sprung up.

" _Bzzzzrt!_ " The drone's alarm screeched, and it whizzed over to the cutout, coming to hover a foot or so from the cardboard man's face. The bottom panel of the drone extended downwards, exposing the stun gun concealed within. The air crackled with power as the drone unleashed a blue bolt of electricity at the target, scorching the cardboard cutout and causing it to slide back into the floor. After a few seconds, the drone chimed twice, deeming the threat to be pacified.

 _"So far, so good,_ " Abraham thought.

Abraham typed two more commands and entered them simultaneously. Behind the drone, an unarmed civilian sprung up. To the side, another ADVENT peacekeeper, this one pointing a magnetic assault rifle. The drone's rear camera spotted the civilian, and it let out another alarm screech before spasming and powering down, crashing to the floor with a _thud_.

"Well, at least we know the armor works," Peters muttered, heading down to go reset the course and recover the drone.

Pointless as it was, Abraham began to toy with the problem in his mind. Did the drone crash because it mistook the peacekeeper for a threat? Or was there a problem with its processing order? Perhaps it encountered an error while attempting to analyze multiple cutouts at once...

He shook his head. There was no way to tell until he took a look at the drone's output code. Hopefully, he would be able to figure it out today.

* * *

About an hour later, Abraham was in his office on the second floor. He leaned back in his chair, cradling his head in his hands. He had identified the problem - the drone had correctly processed the peacekeeper as an ally, but had encountered a fatal processing error the moment it began to analyze the civilian. He had analyzed the crash report for about half an hour now, but it was still too early to know exactly what went wrong.

"Maybe it was something to do with the cameras," Abraham mumbled, blowing a raspberry towards the ceiling. "Some kind of disagreement between the front and rear sensors, maybe..."

Abraham sighed and lurched forward, straightening his posture. Mini-break over, time to get back to work.

A knock at the door to his office drew his attention before he could resume scrolling through the crash report.

"Come in!"

Abraham's mood sank like a stone when he saw who his visitor was.

" _Ah, fuck..._ " he cursed silently. There was only one person he disliked more than Peters, and that was his boss. Not because he hated his guts, but because he made the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight.

Put plainly, he creeped the everloving _shit_ out of Abraham.

Everything about Director Vector seemed unnatural. It was his hair, slicked back and oily, his unnatural tan, the liver spots on his neck... it was his spindly smile, his always-immaculate dark blue suit, and his hollow laughter.

It didn't help that the Director's accent made every word from his mouth sound incredibly insincere. He hung onto his syllables a little too long, sometimes, and it made him sound oddly sinister.

"Good morning, Doctor Tannous," the Director said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Hello, Director. What can I help you with?" Abraham resisted the instinct to shiver.

"Actually, I just stopped by to tell you that I'm giving everyone the rest of the day off." Vector leaned forward slightly and smiled.

"I...what? What for?"

Vector straightened his back and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "To celebrate Unification Day, of course! Go out and enjoy the festivities. You'll receive paid leave, naturally."

Abraham didn't voice that he would rather just stay here and work. He would be lying if he didn't suspect the possibility of something like this happening, but it would be better to just nod and agree. Vouching to stay and work would be weird.

...and he wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"Uh, well, thank you!" Abraham stammered, as convincingly as he could manage. "That sounds great. Guess I'll pack up, then!"

"Wonderful! Have a great time out there." Vector smiled again and gave a half-wave before leaving his office, the door closing silently behind him.

...

"Well, shit," Abraham muttered aloud. "Now what?"

He _had_ been wanting to go see the Hanging Gardens for a while now...but what was the point of going alone? Besides, there would be far too many people today.

Well, with festivities crossed off the list, what else was there? He didn't really need to do anything. He could do most of his shopping online, anyway.

Abraham sighed deeply and began to collect his things. Another lonely night at home it was, then. Watch a movie or two, read that book he had been putting off...

If some of his old friends were free, he could play something online with them. Abraham hadn't always been a gamer, but in recent years he had found it a very enjoyable way to find some social interaction.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

...but it probably would be.

He groaned in frustration and stomped his foot. "Ugh, come on, Abraham! Confidence! Positivity! It'll be great, yeah!"

Abraham walked out of his office, shaking his head and trying desperately not to come up with any sarcastic thoughts.

* * *

Surge turned around from the door to the recreation lounge with an odd smile on her face. She looked back to the group of three following her - Abdul, and Hammer's three new recruits. All of them were still dressed in their desert camo uniforms, with the exception of Abdul. Surge briefly caught the man's eyes, who gave a knowing grin.

She cleared her throat to conceal a laugh. Stepping over, she clapped Private Selena Retter on the shoulder, who gave her a confused look.

"I think you'd better go in first, rookie," Surge said, wheeling around behind her and pushing her towards the door. "After you!"

Selena shared a quick glance with Emilia and Hamid, who shrugged.

"Uh...alright..." Selena gripped the handle to the door and pulled it open. The room was quiet, and all the lights were off.

She looked back at Surge, brows furrowed in confusion. Surge energetically nodded and motioned for her to go in.

Selena stepped inside, the rest of the group following shortly after.

"It sure is dark in here," Abdul said, his tone hiding very poorly-concealed amusement. "I guess I had better turn on the lights!"

As Abdul flicked on the light switch, four people jumped out of their hiding places and shouted in unison.

" **Happy birthday!** "

"Surprise!" Selena's younger sister slid out on her knees from behind one of the couches and blew a party horn, arms stretched wide.

Recovering from her surprise, Selena looked around the room with a growing smile. This was definitely a Morgan thing to do! It looked like she had gotten Bastoli, Chalk, and Thundersaw to help her decorate the rec lounge. There were some colorful paper streamers, a couple red balloons, and a (handmade?) cloth banner strung on the wall that read 'Happy Birthday!' And were those...cupcakes?

Wow. By XCOM standards, this was a luxury party.

"Geez..."Selena started to blush. "All this for my birthday?" She turned around to glare at Abdul and Surge, who smiled and conveniently avoided eye contact. "You two were in on this, weren't you?"

"It's not just your birthday!" Morgan said excitedly, running over to tackle-hug her sister from behind. Selena grunted as she was squeezed a little too tightly.

"Ack! M-Morgan! Too tight!" She gasped.

Morgan giggled and let her sister go, taking one of her hands and turning her around. "It's your _eighteenth_ birthday! And the day you finished your first ever mission!"

"Yeah, congratulations!" Bastoli said, striding over with a chocolate-chip cookie in one hand. He wore a comically undersized party hat on his head. "Now you're technically an adult. I guess that means you're not an illegal member of XCOM anymore, huh?" He grinned and took a bite of the cookie.

Selena didn't miss a beat. "Wow, Morgan, you even got me a party clown!"

The adults of Hammer Squad burst out laughing as Bastoli nearly choked on his food. His thumped his chest with a fist.

"Damn," he croaked. He finally got all the food down, and straightened his back. "Alright, I'll give you this one, girl! But don't think that I'll underestimate you again!"

Selena smiled and quickly hugged him, Bastoli patting her head in return. Thundersaw and Chalk were the next ones to come over.

"You've really got that 'drunken uncle' look down, Nick," Thundersaw remarked.

"Just remember that there are minors present," Chalk hummed, restricting her laughter with a smile.

Bastoli rolled his eyes. "Screw you guys. Why does everyone always pick on me at parties?"

Thundersaw snorted and laughed. "Because you're a sarcastic ass who prods everyone else constantly?"

"No fighting at the party, boys!" Surge walked over and knocked the two knucklehead's noggins together with a _clonk_.

"Yes, ma'am..." Bastoli said sorely, rubbing his head. Thundersaw merely laughed again.

"You're right, though, Selena," Surge said. "This is just as much for welcoming our new rookies as it is for your birthday. So come here, you three!"

Surge extended her arms wide, pulling the three rookies for a group hug. Selena's face was awkwardly pressed up against Emilia's shoulder, and she wormed out of Surge's tight grip with a gasp.

"There are too many touchy-feely people in this organization!" Hamid complained, still held in Surge's arm.

"She's like a grandma with biceps," Bastoli mused aloud.

Surge's head snapped towards him. Her smile was still genuine, but the piercing intensity of her death glare made him wither away.

"Ooh, he's not going to get away with that one," Abdul chuckled.

"Nope," Surge agreed.

* * *

"I don't know if you could really call what we a did a _mission_ , though," Selena said to her sister, who was sitting next to her on one of the couches. "It was just a supply pickup. All we did was move some boxes into a truck."

"Well, it's the principle that matters!" Morgan cheerily defended. "It still counts!"

Selena and Morgan took turns between munching at sweets and chatting, while the other Hammers mingled around the room in their own mini-groups. Funky party music played off a radio in the background. Selena didn't know that the rec lounge even _had_ a radio. She wasn't sure where Morgan even found music for it, let alone all the party decorations!

Selena took a sip from her can of soda.

...then again, it was Morgan. _Everyone_ in the base knew Morgan. It probably wouldn't have been that hard for her to get some materials to make all this herself. She probably charmed the kitchen staff into letting her make the cupcakes herself.

"It's still going to be a while before they send us rookies on a _real_ mission," Selena mused, changing her train of thought.

Morgan's enthusiasm dropped noticeably. Understandably, she wasn't thrilled about the prospect of her sister and friends going into a dangerous mission.

"Anyway, when did you start baking?"

Morgan's mood instantly recovered. "Oh! I've had some free time, lately. I started practicing last month, the chefs let me use the kitchen when they weren't busy. How are the cupcakes? I had to get kind of creative with the ingredients. We don't have a ton of sugar or chocolate."

"They were pretty good," Selena admitted. "It's a very 'Morgan' flavor."

"Thanks! And hey, what do you suppose a 'Selena' flavor would be like?"

Selena took a bite of a cookie as she considered the strange question. "I don't know. It probably would be...lemony? I guess that might be it."

"Lemony..." Morgan nodded sagely, committing the information to memory. "Hmm, hmm. Okay, got it!"

"Happy birthday, Selena," a new voice said. A slender Asian woman suddenly appeared in Selena's peripheral vision, startling her and nearly causing her to spill her drink.

"Oh! U-um, thank you, Shayu!" Selena stammered, rotating her upper body to get a better look at the woman. "I didn't notice you earlier. I, um...I didn't think you would want to show up."

Shayu had a rare smile plastered on her face. It was a small, gentle thing, but for Shayu, it might as well have been a beaming grin. "It's important to build team solidarity," she said softly." And I just got here. You'll have to forgive the others, though. Kenji is occupied, and Arkady is...well..."

"Arkady is Arkady," Surge sighed, walking over and plopping down on the couch next to Morgan. She opened a can of soda and took a sip. "Not much of a 'party' kind of guy."

Selena nodded. "Yeah, I kind of got that when he introduced himself to us when we were training. Don't expect any inspirational speeches," she said, poorly mimicking his deep, gravelly voice.

Surge snorted in laughter. "He actually said that? Wow."

Morgan put a finger to her lip, chiming back in to the conversation. "Actually, that reminds me. Can I ask you something, Ms. Rellick?"

Surge cringed. "Ugh, god. Call me either Liz or Surge, please."

Selena scrunched up her face. "You don't let _me_ call you Liz."

"That's because I'm your boss now, kid," she chuckled. "And besides, you always called me Surge anyway."

"Technically _vice_ boss," Selena pointed out, raising her index finger.

Surge arched an eyebrow, amused. "Smartass. Nick must already be wearing off on you. Anyways, what's your question, Morgan?"

"I've learned most of your nicknames," Morgan said. "But I still don't get _Sickle_ and _Ibex_. What do they mean?"

"Oh, that's all? Abdul's nickname is Ibex because he's fast, and is a good rock-climber. Comes from the name of a mountain goat that lives near Sudan."

"Majestic creatures!" Abdul shouted from the far end of the room, earning laughs from Selena and Morgan and an eye-roll from Surge.

She coughed and continued. "Anyway, as for Sickle...you know the old symbol for communism, the hammer and sickle?"

"Wait..." Shayu leaned over, still listening in to the conversation. She crossed her arms and started to frown in thought. "Really? That's where it comes from? So, our very squad name...?"

Surge nodded, grinning. "Yep. It was all just a shitty, stereotypical Russian joke!"

* * *

Meanwhile, on the bridge of the Avenger, a half-dozen men and women were gathered in a circle in the sunken center of the room, seated on simple fold-up chairs. Some of them held clipboards, manila folders, and tablet computers at the ready.

The bridge itself had been restored and tidied up. Stray cables had been sealed away, the dust had been cleaned, the metal polished. The rows of the machines and flight computers remained functional, but had been powered off, useless without the knowledge to operate them. Dozens of metal crates, full of various supplies and unassembled furniture, were placed off to the sides of the room. The engineering team could have moved the hologlobe from the Operations Center to the bridge, but Karim and Bradford had decided it would be inconvenient. They would wait until the Avenger was nearly finished.

Which, according to Lily's report, wouldn't take all that much longer.

"About a year," Lily repeated, gesturing with one arm from her seated position. "About a year more of work, and the Avenger would meet my minimum requirements to be flight-capable. Barring our three gates, of course."

Bradford nodded along with her explanation. He had seen the rapid progress of the ship for himself: the power core was fully operational, most of the exterior hull damage had been repaired, and the main level of the ship had been excavated and refurbished. He believed Lily's estimation to be a little generous, even - there wasn't all that much left to do before the ship could safely activated.

With the exception of the three gates, as Lily called them. Three obstacles that could not be solved by normal means, and overcoming them would require a coordinated effort from the entire organization. The first was straightforward enough: they needed more of the alien's metal alloy. There was simply no substitute for the ultra-light, ultra-strong material. Karim had come up with a couple ideas on how to obtain the stuff, like trading the elerium they received from Daran Holdings with black market groups, or raiding an ADVENT supply convoy.

Neither was an especially appealing option, but they didn't have much choice. If there were any alien collaborators willing to turn traitor and supply them with alloy, XCOM didn't know about it. Even Rashid Al-Daran's expansive network of business contacts hadn't managed to find any sources.

The second gate was a project Karim's intelligence network had been working on for over a year now. Shen needed a computer specialist who could get the Avenger's machines running again, and teach the language to her at the same time. Karim had implied that he had found a potential defector, but declined to elaborate, saying that 'it was still too early to be certain'.

And the third gate was a brand-new discovery. Eighteen years ago, when XCOM jets had downed the cargo UFO that would become the Avenger, they did so by scoring a direct hit on the craft's rear-left engine. It exploded spectacularly, and sent the craft spinning down into the wilderness below. It was a miracle at the time, but now it was a rather difficult problem. After her examination of the wrecked engine, Lily compared it to the functional engines, and determined that she would need a specialized component that she lacked the ability to replicate.

Bradford didn't really understand her technical explanation, so he just accepted that there was some specific machine part she needed, or else the engine couldn't be repaired. So, they either needed some kind of construction manual (and the means to build the thing), or they would have to steal the part from ADVENT. Which seemed borderline ridiculous to even suggest, as UFO sightings had become incredibly rare. Bradford doubted that they even manufactured the things on Earth. They probably came from...

Uh, wherever the aliens came from. XCOM had never actually learned the answer to that.

"Thank you, Ms. Shen," Karim said, clearing his throat and crossing one leg over the other. "I will take all this into consideration. Finding your power converter will be a daunting task, but I am certain we will succeed, one way or the other. Now then...Captain Marai?"

The brunette woman stood and shrugged, the palms of her hands held out to her fellow leaders.

"Nothing to report. Haven't had much to do since the last batch of rookies finished a month ago. Oversaw a couple exercises with River Squad, they improved their course scores by a decent amount."

"I thought as much," Karim nodded sharing a quick look with Bradford. "I believe your expertise is going to waste, here. Would you protest if we sent you to Unity Hills for the foreseeable future?"

"Unity Hills, huh?" The Captain chuckled and sat back down, leaning forward on her knee. "Heh. No complaints here. I could use the vacation."

"We all could," Bradford said, adjusting himself in his chair. "But this wouldn't be a pleasure trip. There's a lot of potential soldiers there, but they need veterans to train them."

The Captain nodded, leaning back and crossing her arms. "Yeah, figured as much. No issues here, Central."

"Very good," Karim said. "Now, Doctor Maslow, I believe you had a few announcements for us?"

A bald, glasses-wearing man in a labcoat stood up and began to address the others.

"Yes, thank you, Director. First, I'm pleased to announce that we've finally managed to reverse-engineer the medical spray captured from ADVENT."

The other XCOM leaders gave impressed nods and mutterings of praise.

Doctor Maslow continued. "The solution contains an anesthetic, as well as a clotting agent. When sprayed over wounds, the 'foam' rapidly hardens and clings to the body, keeping wounds sealed. The chemicals that comprise the 'medikit' are not especially cheap, although the creation process itself is actually fairly simple. My team still needs some time to put together a projected cost-per-unit, should we begin to mass-produce these. Which, I would probably recommend."

"That's excellent news, Doctor" Bradford praised. "I'm sure our medics will be very glad to hear that." Karim and the others echoed similar sentiments.

"Thank you," Doctor Maslow smiled. "There is one other matter, in regards to our very own Morgan Retter."

"Oh?" Karim leaned forward. "You've had a breakthrough?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses and nodded. "Yes, albeit a minor one. As I discussed last time, her abilities have grown in strength with age. Emotions are an inherently impossible thing to quantify, but I think you'll find that most everyone around the base agrees that her contagious emotions are a little stronger than they used to be."

Lily nodded, having noticed the change for herself. If she had to guess, she'd say Morgan's power was...maybe ten or fifteen percent stronger? That sounded about right.

"Maybe we've just gotten used to her," Lily suggested. "And we can distinguish her effects more easily."

"A possibility that we've yet to rule out," the doctor agreed. "Although, the results from the new medical scanners seem to corroborate our ideas. After our newest brain scans, we've finally identified a distinct difference between her brain and a...more common brain."

Lily silently appreciated the fact that he didn't compare her to a 'normal' brain.

"The explanation is...rather verbose, so I'll spare you the complexities. Just know that we've discovered a previously unknown type of brain wave, the intensity of which increases when she focuses her efforts on identifying and spreading emotion in others. In that regard, we've decided to finally christen her abilities with a proper name...Doctor Hennings proposed the name 'tele-empathy'."

"A derivative of telepathy, I take it," Karim hummed. "Since her powers are limited to emotions."

"Bit of a tongue-twister," Lily said. "But it seems fitting. I like it."

"How far do you think she'll go?" Bradford wondered aloud. "Will she just keep getting stronger with every year? Or is this some kind of puberty change?"

Dr. Maslow sat down and smiled sadly. "I can not even begin to speculate. We are sorely lacking on any sort of information regarding psionics. I would very much be interested in the possibility of acquiring relevant data from ADVENT...but any such information would be guarded extremely well. I understand that it is not currently a high priority."

"It could be," Lily shrugged. "We all know what their new Sectoids are capable of. Owning a power like that would be a huge asset."

"A discussion for another time," Karim said, standing up. "I believe this meeting is concluded, if there is nothing else?"

He looked around the room. Nobody made an effort to stop him.

Karim nodded, satisfied. "Thank you all for your time, then. I won't hold you any longer."

As the others moved to leave, Karim turned to intercept Bradford. He leaned in close, talking softly.

"John, please come with me to my office. There's something you need to see."

Bradford was hesitantly intrigued. Karim didn't call him by his first name very often...that meant that there was something important to discuss.

Bradford nodded and followed him out of the room.

* * *

Karim sat down at his desk and pulled out his tablet computer. He opened a couple picture files and handed the computer to Bradford.

"It's about the matter we discussed last week," Karim said. "About the 'anonymous' tip we received."

Bradford swiped through the pictures. They were all nighttime surveillance photos of a hilly, mountainous region, covered in brown dirt with next to no vegetation. A sturdy-looking bridge made of black metal spanned the gap between two especially large hills, its support struts planted firmly in the valley below.

He glanced up at Karim. "You've discovered the sender's identity?"

"No." Karim scowled, a very rare occurrence for the man. "But we can safely conclude that they are an ally. For if ADVENT knew the location of our headquarters, they would simply attack us. There would be no point for them to bait us out to a tempting target if they already knew where we were."

"Agreed."

"Still, I find this very worrying." Karim clasped his hands together, leaning onto his desk and touching the tips of his fingers to his nose. "We've been lax in our security. If this mystery friend found us, so could ADVENT."

Karim shook his head. "We'll have to rethink our security policies, but that is a matter for tomorrow. For now, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the photos."

Bradford wasn't certain what the man wanted to hear, so he decided to just state what he could see.

"It's a train bridge in a mountainous region," he said. "Looks like it's unguarded. Definitely ADVENT construction, given the black metal."

Karim nodded. "A rail line in the Red Sea Hills. ADVENT has been using it for at least three or four years. I'm almost ashamed we didn't notice it sooner. Regardless, I had the local cell monitor the area for the last week. The description fits the information our anonymous ally enclosed in the folder. The train schedules, as well. Which, I must add, I find intriguing. Whoever our friend is...they have access to rather confidential information. I can only speculate as to how they obtained it."

Bradford put the tablet down. "Any guesses?"

"A disgruntled collaborator, perhaps. An extremely eager resistance member, who, for whatever reason, chose to keep their findings secret. I cannot say at this point."

Bradford nodded. "Do we know where the rail line leads? What does it connect to?"

"It goes from north to south. To the north, it leads to the Gulf of Suez. To the south...we do not know yet. Some facility nestled deep in the mountains, I would imagine. I wouldn't be surprised if it led underground. Finding the facility likely will not be an easy task. However..."

"Let me guess. You know a way to make it easier?"

Karim gave a wry smile and nodded.

"I propose we sabotage the bridge in the photographs. With their rail line disabled, ADVENT will have to send crew to repair it. That would provide us an opportunity to track their movements. And, if my hunch is correct, they will need to get whatever it is they are transporting from a different supply route for a time."

Bradford let out a low chuckle. "I see where you're going with this. Two birds with one stone, huh?"

"Three, if we are lucky."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That's all for this chapter! This was an interesting chapter to write, I had fun coming up with the banter for the party scene. I used the XCOM 2 Artbook for inspiration when it came to visualizing the City Centers (which I decided to call 'Centers of Progress'). The picture of the Elder statue, poised over a raised highway in the heart of the city, with the sun rising behind it, was particularly striking.
> 
> By the way, have any of you seen the original design concepts for the Faceless? They were far more menacing, kind resembling a Xenomorph or Predator, in some cases. Reminded me of Parasyte: The Maxim. Also, the silhouette for the Avenger had some stupid designs (It was basically a World War 2 Era Battleship with jump jets). I quite like the one they settled on.
> 
> Inspiration music used during the creation of this chapter:
> 
> To the Ends of the Galaxy (Stellaris Soundtrack), for the apartment scene.
> 
> Chaos Mind (Stein's Gate Soundtrack), for the laboratory scene.
> 
> Tables Are Turned (RuneScape Soundtrack), for the party scene.
> 
> Man, it's technically still winter, but it does not feel like it. It's far too hot for March. Bring back the cold, make winter great again!
> 
> Thinking of picking up my Long War 2 playthrough soon.
> 
> Obviously, Abraham is going to be the computer expert that defects to XCOM. But how will events unfold? What horrors await our heroes? Will Morgan attempt to make a 'Selena' flavored cupcake? Find out next time, on XCOM Ball Z!
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a dropbox link can be found by searching the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom). Simply search for 'Revenant' and you should find a relevant thread.
> 
> Likewise, if you're simply interested in seeing an image album of what all the characters look like, that can be found here: imgur/a/3UG51
> 
> Note that you'll have to add the .com after imgur yourself, damn formatting restrictions.


	10. Chapter Ten

"...truly, a magnificent day for all of us here in Babylon," the television in Abraham's apartment said, showing the image of a well-dressed man on a red and black podium. Abraham noted that he looked oddly similar to Director Vector. From the looks of the crowd in the background, it was a recording of the speech given yesterday during the parades around the Hanging Gardens.

Two alien heralds levitated in the air on either side of him. The two creatures were incredibly bizarre, yet somehow impressive-looking. They were really nothing more than a floating human torso with arms and the lower half of a head. Their synthetic skin was white, chiseled to look like a muscular chest and abdomen. They wore golden gauntlets and shoulder-pads, with a tall helmet. On their back was some sort of jetpack, made to resemble two golden wings curving upward. A number of small jets of flame flared from holes in the jetpack, as well as one large one where the creature's legs should have started. Finally, they each carried a simple, curved staff that ended with a green, spear-like tip.

The Archons were truly impressive features of engineering, but they had always seemed a little too far into the uncanny valley for Abraham's tastes.

Actually, wait. Were they entirely mechanical?

...the news networks had never clarified that.

Abraham sighed, pressing the mute button on his remote and flipping to the next channel. It was also replaying the events of the Unification Day celebrations. Abraham's jaw dropped in irritable silence as the next _five_ news channels were all covering the same thing. He shut off the TV and shook his head, heading to his bedroom to finish getting dressed for work.

"This is why I don't watch television anymore. Same garbage on all the channels..." he muttered. "Honestly, who the hell cares? It's just another fucking day!"

Abraham's day off had not been very pleasant.

Having made it home just after noon, he found himself with an unwanted abundance of free time. He had a light lunch, and then sat on the couch for a while, simply contemplating what to do. He tried to catch up on his reading, tried to play some games on his computer, but he found himself unable to focus, unable to engage in anything. In the end, he just sat around for most of the day, lying on his bed until he eventually managed to fall asleep late in the evening.

And for someone who got nearly ten hours of sleep, he certainly didn't _feel_ well-rested. His bitter lack of enthusiasm had coalesced overnight, and he woke up with a foul taste in his mouth. He recognized the feeling as an ill omen, a sign of unfortunate miseries yet to come. It was one of those things that you just _knew_ the instant you woke up, like when you could immediately recognize that you had a cold.

Today was going to be an awful day.

* * *

"Now then, my young hunter, tell me...what is the most important aspect of the hunt?"

The recreation lounge was empty, with the exception of Abdul and Morgan. Abdul, Aviator glasses raised to rest on top of his shaven head, stood in front of a whiteboard mounted on the wall. His arms were crossed, and his firm posture indicated a very serious conversation.

"Sir!" The man's young student saluted earnestly, two black lines drawn under her eyes with charcoal. Her emerald eyes sparkled with a youthful eagerness that belied her serious demeanor. "The most important aspect is target selection!"

Abdul nodded firmly, his stern gaze trained on Morgan. "Close. Be more specific! Give the full answer."

"Sir! The target must be carefully chosen, as hunting an unwilling target will result in a failure, with bad times all around!"

Morgan met his gaze, narrowing her eyes to respond to his unspoken challenge. He shuffled his feet and leaned forward slightly, intensifying his focus on her.

...

Abdul broke first, tearing away from the staring contest and loosing peals of hearty laughter. Morgan dropped her act as well, her serious stare evaporating into a grin.

"Well done!" He stepped closer to Morgan and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You've passed the classroom examination."

"Woo!" Morgan cheered, jumping into the air, one fist held high.

"Now then," Abdul said, pulling back and lowering his sunglasses. He wore a proud, conspiratorial smile. "What do you say we move on to field practice?"

"Right sir, I'm ready!" Morgan picked up her own pair of Aviators from a table and put them on. They were a treasured gift from her mentor, but it was plain to anyone that they were still a little too big for her.

"Tsk, tsk," Abdul chided, waving a finger at her. "Restrain yourself, young hunter. You'll arouse the suspicions of your prey if you are too obvious."

Morgan took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Right, sir," she repeated, much calmer. "I am ready!"

He laughed, a sign of approval. "Let's go, then!"

* * *

"Arkady?"

"Not unless you enjoy running laps and peeling potatoes."

"Kenji and Shayu?"

"Occasionally possible, but not for beginners. Also, they are not here today."

Abdul and Morgan walked nonchalantly around the base, observing the people around them. Morgan continued to ask for the older hunter's thoughts about potential targets. Eventually, they came to a stop at one of the barracks buildings near the canteen. Morgan stealthily peeked out from around the corner, monitoring the people coming in and out of the building.

" _Are they having early lunch or late breakfast...?_ " Morgan wondered.

"Aha," Abdul muttered. He leaned over to tap his apprentice on the shoulder and point something out. "Look, young hunter. Our prey approaches the watering hole."

Morgan immediately perked up, tracking the target her master had spotted. Her eyes widened in realization as she saw a familiar woman with short, red hair pass through the doors to the canteen.

"Surge...?"

Abdul nodded sagely, crossing his arms. "Mm. Liz is an ideal target. Tough and serious, but good-natured, and has enough of a sense of humor to appreciate a good prank. Remember our code?"

"A good prank makes the victim laugh, too," Morgan answered, keeping her eyes trained on Surge, who moved to get in the food line.

"As far as I am aware," Abdul continued. "She should be off today. Odds are likely that she will return to the Hammer barracks after eating, as she never works out or trains immediately after eating. We have perhaps a fifteen-minute window to prepare our trap."

Morgan was impressed by the thoroughness of her master's analysis. She nodded in agreement, beginning to realize how important it was to understand the background and habits of the victim. Truly, this was a hunter's art.

Abdul grinned mischievously. "Now then, young hunter. I have high expectations for you, so let's hear your ideas..."

* * *

Surge sighed and stretched out her arms contently, crossing her arms behind her head as she headed back to her barracks. Days off like this were uncommon for her, so she appreciated her early lunch to the fullest.

Or was it a late breakfast? She refused to call it brunch.

"Such a dumb name," she muttered to herself as she opened the barracks door.

" **Gyaaah!** " Surge let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched shriek as a torrent of cold water splashed across her head and back. She bounced forward, turning sharply with one foot to meet her assailant.

...but there was nobody there. Nothing but a string and a bucket hanging over the doorway, still dripping onto a growing puddle on the floor. A pair of voice started to howl with laughter, a short ways outside.

Her cheeks began to flush as she realized the trap she'd fallen into. Gritting her teeth, she stormed outside, fists clenched.

"Abdul!" She bellowed, whipping around as she searched for the notorious trickster. "Maybe save the cold showers for when I get done _exercising_ instead of eating, huh?!"

Surge gasped in realization as she spotted a lock of red hair poking out from around the corner of the barracks.

The feminine giggling confirmed her suspicions.

She heard a gasp and the crunching of footsteps in the sand. Surge dashed forward, grabbing the corner of the building and pulling herself around.

Abdul and Morgan cackled like a pair of hyenas as they fled the scene.

" **Abdul!** " Surge shouted, shaking her fist. "Don't you dare corrupt her with your twisted ways!"

Cold water dripped further down her back, and she was unable to resist the urge to shiver, and she shook her head to get a wet strand of hair out of her face.

"Probably too late already," she sighed, unable to prevent her lips from curling up into a reluctant smile.

* * *

Damien opened the door to the recreation longue and quickly stuck his head inside, scanning the interior. There were a couple off-duty intelligence personnel playing table tennis, a few members of River squad spread out on the couches...

...ah, there she was.

Spotting who he had been searching for, Damien strode over to the lone woman at one of the tables in the corner. She had a great deal of papers spread out across the smooth metal surface, neatly organized in several small stacks. She was holding a thick, paperback book open with one hand while writing notes on some kind of file with the other.

"Heya, Em. What are you working on?"

"Oh!" Emily glanced up at him, a little surprised. "Hello, Damien. My apologies."

One side of his mouth twitched up in amusement, and he chuckled softly. "Only a Canadian would apologize for getting startled. Sorry for spooking you."

She smiled and let go of her pencil, sticking it into the page she had been reading to serve as a bookmark.

"What are you working on?" Damien asked.

"This," Emily gestured to the organized mess on the table, "is a learning curriculum. I'll be resuming my tutoring soon, so I need to be well-prepared."

"Oh? I thought that was over."

She shook her head. "Most of the younger ones received a break when they were at the height of their training, but that time has passed now. If anything, I should have started a month or so ago...I fear I may have been a little too lenient, this time."

Damien nodded to show that he was listening, and leaned over to get a closer look at her papers.

"Say, I thought you were just an English teacher," he said. "This is math. Algebra 2, by the looks of it."

Algebra 2...god damn, it had been a long time since he ever had to think about that.

Emily huffed and splayed the fingers of one hand across her chest in mock offense. "Just an English teacher, he says. How rude!"

Damien and Emily had become good friends over the last year, and he now knew her well enough to know when she was teasing him. He smiled, and said nothing more, not taking her bait.

Damien had never considered himself much of a deep-thinker, but he found that he greatly enjoyed his time spent with the woman. He felt that he didn't have much to offer in their conversations, usually serving as a listener, but Emily didn't seem to mind. He silently thanked himself for spontaneously asking to train with her, all those months ago.

...she really helped him get out of that funk.

Emily cleared her throat. "Anyway, yes, I teach more than just English. Some of the doctors and engineering staff do what they can in their spare time, but ultimately, I am the only 'designated' teacher here. Obviously, it would be preferable for the youths here to go to one of the havens, where we have proper schools, but..."

"Security concerns," Damien finished.

"Right. So, it isn't ideal, but they deserve a _semblance_ of a normal upbringing. So I will endeavor to ensure that they learn _more_ than simply how to kill."

He smiled sadly. "How admirably selfless...if only your students appreciated your hard work!"

She smiled and shook her head. "But they do, Damien. All people enjoy learning. Each student simply expresses it differently."

Damien shrugged. "That's a pretty optimistic view. But, I guess not everyone can be like Morgan."

Emily laughed and nodded.

Damien found the way she laughed to be oddly cute. The way she held her index finger just below her lips, her shoulders gently shaking as she laughed. With her mouth closed, her laugh sounded more like a quick, repeated hum.

"She is rather unique, isn't she? I've never met a student with a more voracious appetite for knowledge of all sorts." Emily looked to the side, her eyes fondly remembering some distant memory. She shook her head after a moment and looked back up at Damien. "By the way, have you ever experienced her 'abilities' firsthand?"

"Mhm, twice," he nodded. The second time was just a minute ago, actually. While I was looking for you, she must have crossed near me. I heard her skipping and humming, and then I felt...this, like, tingly sensation on the back of my neck. And then this...warmth, rushed into me. Like when you swallow a gulp of hot soup.

Damien crossed his arms, looking up and nodding thoughtfully.

"And, I was in a pretty neutral mood, I guess, but that made me start smiling right away. I was giggling like an idiot, even though I didn't have any reason to."

"Goodness," Emily giggled. "That sounds like it must have been a strong one! She must have been in a very good mood."

"I'll say. I don't want to know what it's like to be around her when she's in a really _bad_ mood."

Emily's expression immediately soured, having experienced that once in the past. Minor fluctuations of frustration and sadness, she was accustomed to. The only time she had experienced a strong, _negative_ aura from Morgan was a time of a deep sadness. She still shuddered a little when she recalled that one day, when Morgan's invisible wave of misery had crashed into her.

Emily could only assume that other negative emotions, like anger and jealousy, would be unwillingly shared, as well.

"Let's..." She frowned and bit her lip, searching for the right words. "Let's just say that her ability has its disadvantages."

Damien nodded, sensing her silent plea to not purse the topic any longer.

He stole a quick glance at his watch. Unfortunately, finding Chalk took a bit longer than he would have liked, and he had somewhere to be.

"Alright, well, I had better get going." They exchanged their goodbyes, and Damien stood up and slid his chair back under the table. As he turned to leave, he snapped his fingers, and turned back towards Emily.

"Oh, crap, I almost forgot the reason why I was looking for you in the first place!" He hurriedly sat back down.

"What is it?"

"I'm uh..." Damien rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to tell her. "I'm getting deployed tonight, on a long-term mission. Probably will be gone for a month, at least. So, uh, I won't be making it to the practice range tonight."

"Oh, I see." Emily nodded, her face neutral. "Well, I understand the need for secrecy. Say no more."

"And I wish you the best of luck!" she added.

"Thanks," Damien smirked. "Alright, I'm leaving for real, this time. Try not to miss me too much!"

"Have fun~" she sang, waving and turning her attention back to her unfinished curriculum.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the Hammer squad barracks..._

"Uuuooh..."

Hamid rolled his eyes in annoyance as the voice on top of his bunk moaned again.

"Ahuuuu..." it mewled pathetically.

"Emilia," Hamid said firmly, putting the book he had been trying to read down. "Can you stop dying up there, please?"

He heard movement on top of the bunk, and was shortly greeted by Emilia leaning over the bunk to look down at him. Strands of blonde hair, grown out in recent weeks, dangled down.

"I can't help it Hamid, ooooh," she said in a long, drawn-out tone. "I have too much free time and I'm turning into a ghoooost because I'm dying of booooredom, ooooowoooo..."

Hamid was unamused.

"How much older are you than me, again?"

"About half a year, ooowooo..."

Hamid sighed and lazily threw his pillow at her. She let out an 'eep' and withdrew back to the top of the bunk.

"Go bother Selena or something. I'm trying to read and you're distracting me."

"But Selena's off training with the Lieutenant," Emilia's voice said, having dropped the annoying ghost act.

"So go do something else. You should do some specialized training, too."

"I've thought about that, actually," Emilia said, peering over again to look at Hamid while hanging upside down. "I was going to ask Chalk if she would train me to be a sharpshooter, like her, but she was busy today. Working on our curriculum, or something."

"You want to be a sharpshooter?" Hamid asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

She nodded, which looked rather strange given her position.

"Yeah, why not? I think I'd be pretty good at it. I'm a good shot."

Hamid briefly considered the matter, and found he agreed. Emilia _was_ a pretty good shot. Besides, the role seemed like a good fit for her. While not exactly _frail_ , Hamid silently reasoned that she would probably be more useful as a backline support unit rather than a frontliner.

Hamid bit his tongue, growing conscious that he was assessing people again. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing to frequently evaluate people, but Hamid felt that he had grown accustomed to doing it far too regularly. He was trying to condition himself to stop by inflicting minor pains on himself whenever he slipped into the habit.

" _Save it for the field_ ," he thought. " _Stop judging your friends so much._ "

"I think that's a good idea," Hamid said.

"Mm," Emilia hummed. "Say, what are you reading, anyway?"

"Ah..." Hamid picked up the book and held out the cover for Emilia to see. "It's called _The Other Side of the Mountain_...it's about the guerrilla tactics that Mujahideen used when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. Morgan let me borrow it after she finished it. I'm not too far in, but I can see why she was assigned to read it. It's pretty interesting...helpful, too."

Emilia tilted her head. "Sounds neat. Could I read it after you're done?"

"You'll have to ask Morgan, but I imagine she'll say yes."

"Cool, thanks."

Emilia pushed herself back up onto her bed, as she was starting to get a little woozy from all the blood rushing to her head. There was a short period of silence, and just as Hamid was about to reach for the book again, Emilia resumed speaking.

"Do you ever think about how weird this is?"

Hamid looked up and spoke a little louder, so she could hear him.

"How do you mean?"

"Just...all of this," Emilia sighed. "I mean, what would you have been doing on a normal Friday evening?"

"Before joining XCOM?"

"Uh huh. I mean...geez, I would have been looking at college courses. Studying...going shopping with my friends. All of that, it just..."

Emilia's voice faltered. "It...it seems so far away now. I guess it seems kind of silly, looking back...but I do kind of miss it."

She shook her head, resolving her willpower. "Not that I would go back now, even if I could. Not...knowing what we know now. You know?"

"Yeah, I know," Hamid agreed. "Before XCOM and Midnight Liberty...I guess I would have been in the workshop, about this time. I was working on this remote-controlled car...I never got to finish it."

"You know, you should see if the engineers could use your help. Maybe you could experiment in your free time."

That...that wasn't a bad idea, Hamid realized.

_Why didn't I ever think of that?_

"You know, that's a good idea. I think I will."

"Thanks," he added.

Emilia laughed and leaned over again, resuming her stupid ghost routine. "You're wellllcome, Hamid, uuuoooohooo~"

Hamid groaned in frustration and hit his head against the wall with a _thunk_.

"I take it back, I hate you."

Emilia laughed and continued to annoy Hamid until he threatened to throw his dirty socks in her face.

* * *

Lieutenant Arkady Sokolov stood in the underground firing range and inspected his rookie's posture. Selena kept her eyes trained downrange, rifle held at the ready, and remained motionless as he checked her stature. Not too rigid, not too loose, trigger discipline, feet planted firmly...

Satisfied, he stepped back and nodded.

"Start with the rifle, switch to your sidearm when instructed. Red and white targets are fair game. Avoid hitting blue targets."

"Yes, Lieutenant." Selena remained in her firing stance, knowing better than to annoy her strict mentor by making unnecessary movements.

Arkady stepped to the control panel and pressed a large, red button. A loud buzzer went off, alerting anyone nearby that someone was beginning a live-fire exercise. The underground firing range wasn't much different than the one above ground. It was buried twenty feet beneath it, even.

But this one was a room made of metal and concrete, not a simple stretch of dirt on the surface. Smooth grooves in the floor and ceiling held target stands that could be made to move around the room, providing a much harder (and more realistic) challenge.

The first target came up, a white target that resembled a human silhouette. Selena let off two shots, both of which connected with the center of the target's mass. The room's loudspeakers gave a quick buzz, and the target slunk back into the floor. Another white target popped up from the floor, moving to the left. At the same time, a black target came out of the ceiling, and started moving in a zig-zag pattern to the right. Selena hit the white target with ease, but missed the first shot against the black target.

The test continued for a while, with no clear pattern of difficulty progression. Although, that was the point - this test was designed to test the girl's reflexes, to train her to deal with unexpected targets, to teach her not to relax too early.

As Selena fired off the last round in her rifle, Arkady instructed her to switch to her pistol. The targets did not pause for her, and two targets slid back into the floor as she fumbled with her holster.

"Not good enough," Arkady said firmly, shaking his head.

Selena swore under her breath as she finally managed to draw her pistol, firing at a black target that was about to slide back into the ceiling.

She missed.

It took ten seconds before the next target popped out. Arkady watched her shoulders moving up and down as she forced herself to calm down, recovering from her frustration.

The next wave of targets moved more quickly, and remained on the range for a second or two less. Selena continued to fire until her pistol was out of ammo, downing about as many targets as she let escape.

Arkady pressed the button on the control panel again, stopping the test. The readout displayed her score: 48 out of 100.

Not terrible. A cut above the average for a freshly trained rookie, even. But he wouldn't even consider taking her on any mission until that score improved to at least 70, firmly below the squad's average of 86. Arkady's own score of 94 was beaten only by his second in command, Surge, who had 96.

A fact she very frequently reminded him of.

Selena's shots for the first wave had been very accurate, but she lost her composure and struggled to keep up with the second wave. Even when she did hit the faster targets, they were grazing shots, unlikely to kill.

Arkady knew of Selena's story. He knew the girl wasn't lacking in willpower- her tenacity and self-motivation put even Kenji to shame - but her skills needed refinement. It would be a while yet before she was ready.

He snorted in amusement, which made Selena bite her lip in disappointment.

"Not the worst score I've ever seen," Arkady said, walking over to inspect the girl. She was breathing a little heavily, but seemed mostly normal.

"But you can do much better than that, can't you?"

It wasn't a question.

She nodded, calmly meeting his gaze. "Yes, Lieutenant."

Arkady went back to the control panel and ordered the range to reset itself.

"Good. Reload and get ready. This time, continue to reload your rifle until I instruct you to switch to your sidearm, which you will also reload until told to stop. Understood?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Arkady wondered how the girl would hold up when his regimen became more difficult. She would have to attempt the range when exhausted, to start with, and even the best soldier's score dropped by a few points when you were panting and dripping with sweat.

He normally hated this process, but this time, he felt the tiniest bit interested to see how she would improve.

* * *

**Operation: Deutermann**

**May 10, 2033 - 13:52**

**Objective: Destruction of ADVENT rail-bridge**

**Area of Operation: Red Sea Hills, Egyptian wilderness**

**Mission Status - In progress**

Four members of Hammer squad - Bastoli, Kenji, Shayu, and Thundersaw, were approaching the target of their mission, an ADVENT rail-bridge spanning two hills near the Red Sea. They were each dressed in a desert combat uniform, light-brown and camouflaged, with Kevlar body armor underneath. Each member had an assault rifle in their hands, a pistol and knife strapped to their side, and each one carried duffel bags and backpacks full of equipment.

The squad crouched behind a boulder, taking one final survey of the area before making their approach. They were perhaps a mile or two from the bridge, and there was a large stretch of flat, arid land until the terrain became more rugged and mountainous. Vegetation was scarce, with only a few scraggly bushes and dead trees.

A light, desert wind blew gently from the southeast.

"Remind me why we're doing this in broad daylight, again?" Bastoli asked sarcastically, wiping his brow. Despite the light breeze, it was still midday in the middle of the desert, with only a few wispy clouds lazily floating by.

Kenji sighed, turning around to glare at the man. "I already told you, so we'll have the best visibility."

"Yeah, but they'll have the best visibility of _us,_ too."

"Doesn't matter. The bridge is unguarded. We need visibility for any automated defenses or mines."

"Oh, alright!" Bastoli said with mock enthusiasm. "Mines, huh? So we're walking into a minefield, are we?"

Kenji grimaced in frustration. "Did you sleep through the briefing? Local operatives swept the area with metal detectors and tested it with an RC car. No contacts, but they didn't sweep out the whole area. We can't rule out the possibility that the area is mined."

Technically, Thundersaw should have been in charge of this operation, as he was the third-most senior member of Hammer squad. However, in this case, he was more than willing to defer to Kenji, the explosives expert.

Shayu returned from her hiding place, tucking her binoculars away back into her equipment pack.

"No sign of any defenses. If there _are_ turrets, they must be buried inside the bridge itself."

"Alright," Kenji said. "Here's the plan. We'll send the drone out to buzz the area. If nothing shows up, we move in on the bridge."

"Works for me," Thundersaw said, heaving the heavy bag of gear off his shoulder and gently placing it on the ground. He pulled out a sturdy case, and opened it to reveal a quadcopter drone and its remote control device. Thundersaw assembled the simple drone and powered it up within a minute, handing the controls to Kenji.

Kenji took a moment to orient the drone's camera, and then made it rise into the air. It was noisy, but that was useful, in this case. If there were any hidden defenders on the bridge, the noise and motion of a drone flying around would surely draw their attention.

The squad wasn't equipped to handle the heavily armored, automated turrets that ADVENT used to guard their facilities. If there were any present, they would have to abort the mission and come back later, with more firepower.

The drone only took a minute or two to reach the bridge. Kenji had the drone fly both over and under the bridge, ordering it to hover in place for a few seconds each time. Any defenders would have surely taken the easy shot.

But no shots came, and no turrets popped out of hidden compartments. As far as Kenji could tell, there weren't even any _cameras_.

That was...unusual. ADVENT favored security over stealth near-universally. Why was this bridge undefended? Was it not important? Did they figure that it would never be found? Or was there actually some kind of defense system in place, still unknown to them?

"No sign of anything," Kenji muttered, deciding there was no use in speculating and recalling the drone. "Didn't see any cameras, but masks on, just in case."

The four Hammers equipped the sunglasses and bandannas they had brought with them, obscuring the majority of their faces. If there _were_ cameras, they needed to make sure that their faces wouldn't be captured and stored in ADVENT's databases. As the others equipped their disguises, Kenji unpacked the metal detector and ensured that it was working properly.

"We'll stick to the hills on the left. Much harder to mine surfaces that aren't flat. I'll take point with the metal detector. Anything spots us or pops out of the bridge, we pop smoke and head for the rendezvous point. Make sure you follow the same path we took in going out, to minimize the risk of stepping on any mines that might be there."

* * *

Proceeding slowly and cautiously as Kenji kept his eyes peeled for any suspicious patches of dirt, it took the group about an hour to reach the bridge's support struts.

They didn't encounter anything on their way there.

Kenji looked up at one of the tall, black-metal pillars holding up the bridge. The ADVENT insignia was painted in white, halfway up the pillar. There were four support struts in total, two tall ones in the center of and a short one at each end. Kenji determined that the pillars were made at least partially of the alien's alloy. He doubted the entire thing was a solid block of it - the enormous cost of that would have been unjustifiable - but they were, at the least, armored in a layer of the stuff.

"If this is supposed to be secret, why did their put their fucking logo on it?" Thundersaw spat, kicking a tiny rock out of his way.

It was a good point. None of this made much sense, but if ADVENT was willing to give them something for free, Kenji was more than willing to take it.

"Let's get this done quickly, Hammers. C4 isn't going to cut it for these two main pillars - X4 should work just fine, though. Shayu, Bastoli, go stick some C4 on each of the smaller pillars. Put the block as high as you can reach. Stay together, watch each other's backs. When you're done, regroup, and we'll detonate all four explosives simultaneously."

The two nodded their affirmation, and Kenji took two blocks of C4 out of his satchel and handed them over to Shayu.

"Don't trust me with the explosives, eh?" Bastoli chuckled, heading off behind his partner.

Kenji wasted no time, and turned to Thundersaw.

"Thunder, I'll need you to watch my back while I place the X4."

The big man nodded firmly, rolling his shoulders and double-checking his assault rifle. He would have normally preferred his heavier SAW, but for this mission, it was essential to be lightweight and mobile.

Kenji fetched the first X4 block out of his pocket, stretching up as far as he could easily reach, and affixed the charge to the first pillar. It magnetically locked onto the pillar with a muffled _clang_. Kenji turned towards the keypad included on the block, and input the code required to arm the charge. It beeped four times in rapid succession. It was now armed, but would not detonate until given a remote signal.

" _This is more like it,_ " Kenji thought. These were ideal conditions to enjoy the incredibly powerful explosives.

As incredible as the elerium-powered fireball was the last time, the whole affair was somewhat spoiled by the whole 'civilian casualties' aspect.

* * *

Setting up the explosives did not require much precision, and the squad retreated to the boulder they had used earlier without issue. Having let command know that the charges were in place, the Hammers only had to wait for the Skyranger to arrive, and then they would detonate and be on their way.

"At this rate," Bastoli yawned. "We might even be home in time for dinner."

"Did you see what they were serving tonight?" Thundersaw asked.

"Soup, I think. Don't know what kind."

"Cut the chatter," Kenji growled. "We're not home yet."

They heard the Skyranger before they saw it, that familiar low whine of the engines creeping up to them as the unique aircraft flew in low behind them.

"Hammer One-Seven, this is Firebrand," a woman's voice crackled through Kenji's headset as the aircraft landed. "Ready for pickup."

"Roger that, Firebrand," Kenji answered, standing up and fetching out the detonator from his satchel. "Ready for some fireworks?"

"Always, but how about we get you all inside, first?" The ramp of the Skyranger started to fold down, making a loud mechanical whine.

"Nice to be able to _walk_ back on for a change," Bastoli said.

The ramp fully descended, and the four walked forward. They came to rest on the ramp, turning around to look at the bridge.

"Don't keep us waiting," Shayu said, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Kenji touched his headset. "Firebrand, you got a good view from back there?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm looking through the rear cameras."

"Do those keep video?" Thundersaw asked into his own headset, suddenly curious.

"Not for very long, but yeah, why?"

"We might be able to use the footage for our own propaganda, or something," Thundersaw said.

Bastoli looked at Thundersaw in surprise. "Shit, Pete, that's actually a pretty good fucking idea!"

Thundersaw shrugged indifferently. "Use every advantage, as they say."

"That's not a saying," Shayu frowned.

Kenji decided not to wait for them to cease bickering. He flicked the cover off of the detonator, and pressed the switch.

The four simultaneous explosions obliterated the support struts, and the bridge crashed to the ground, creating a loud shockwave. The debris kicked up a tremendous cloud of dust as the twisted metal corpse of the bridge began to settle in place.

Kenji laughed heartily, placing his arms around Shayu and Bastoli, who shared in the simple joy of destruction. They boarded the Skyranger, laughing and cheering as a few more pieces on the ends of the bridge crumbled into the waiting mass below.

* * *

"Maybe I should get a cat..." Abraham wondered aloud, standing inside his office. He silently debated the pros and cons of the idea as he packed up his things, preparing to head home for the day. It had been a productive day - getting to see progress on the drone had calmed him considerably.

" _Always liked cats. Pretty low maintenance. Good housemates...it would be nice to have someone to come home to. But...maybe I'd rely on it too much, become a crazy cat man. Are those a thing? They probably are._ "

Abraham turned off his computer and flicked the light switch in his office. Before he could leave, however, a man knocked twice on his door, which was open.

"Hey, Abraham," greeted Ali, his coworker.

"Hey, Ali. What's up? Need something?"

"Nah." He shook his head, leaning into the doorframe while supporting himself with one arm. "Was thinking of heading to the bar...been a long day for me. You want to come? Wouldn't mind the company."

Abraham blinked in surprise. This was unexpected. One of his coworkers inviting _him_ out somewhere? He almost declined out of reflex. Peters, he would have rejected in a heartbeat. But Ali? He was alright in Abraham's book.

"Uh..." he faltered, unable to find the words.

" _...fuck it, let's do it. Anything to break the mold..._ " Abraham silently resolved.

"Sure, I guess," he said. "Why not? Although, I'll warn you that I'm not much of a drinker."

Ali shrugged. "Eh, me neither."

Abraham stepped outside and locked his door, beginning to walk with Ali towards the parking garages.

"So why a bar, then?"

"The atmosphere, I guess. Honestly, I think I go more to chat with the bartenders and people-watch, than I do to get drunk."

Ali cracked a wry smile. "Not the most thrilling way to spend a Friday night, but it works for me. You sure you want to come, though?"

Abraham nodded, determined to go through with it now. "I've got nothing else planned. Besides, now I'm kind of interested to see why you like it."

Ali laughed once and held the exit door open for Abraham as they exited the building, the evening sun beginning to bathe the Garden City in fire-gold once more.

* * *

Abraham had to admit, Ali was right.

He wouldn't say that going to the bar had been _fun_ , not fun like playing a videogame was. But it had been...enjoyable. Relaxing, even.

The bar itself was very clean, with a sleek and modern aesthetic. The black and gold, curved furniture dully reflected the dim lighting of the bar, while atmospheric electronic music sifted through the air. Sitting with Ali at a tall, circular table a ways away from the bar counter, Abraham had an excellent vantage point to observe the bar's other customers.

Very slightly drunk as he was, Abraham couldn't remember the name of the bar, but he did remember that it was nestled between the urban center of Babylon and the less dense, slightly poorer surrounding zones. That meant there was a huge stock of interesting patrons to come into the bar, and indeed they had.

The first spectacle happened when a boisterous man came in, demanding his 'usual' drink. From the bartender's unamused expression, he was obviously a first-time visitor. Anyway, the man had gone on to ramble about how important he was, and how bossing around his 'minions' was harder than it looked. Abraham stopped listening to the man after he started ranting about his ungrateful subordinates, writing him off as an arrogant asshole.

It was the bartender that interested him more. A woman in her early twenties, by the looks of it, with long, neatly trimmed dark hair. As she cleaned glasses and prepared more drinks, Abraham had thought that she was tuning out the loud customer. But to his surprise, she occasionally commented on the man's ramblings in a cool, neutral tone, and responded when he asked questions that weren't rhetorical.

The next customer wasn't much better. It was some balding, fat man, who insisted on ordering his drinks in the most cryptic manner possible, like asking for 'the drink that was invented to console a grieving pianist'. Again, Abraham had been impressed by the woman's ability to maintain her professional composure. He felt he could stand to mimic a few aspects of her behavior in his own profession. Who knows, maybe it would give him the ability to tolerate Director Vector's presence for more than a few seconds.

Then again, maybe it was just more of a personality thing.

Abraham was stunned when the woman handed the man a tall glass of some blue-colored drink. The customer seemed surprised that she actually gave him a drink at all, let alone the correct one!

"Who the hell goes to a bar to do that?" Abraham muttered to Ali.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I've seen that guy here before, actually. That female bartender - Jill, I think her name is - is the only one who can tolerate his bullshit. I think she likes the challenge of deciphering his orders."

Ali took a drink of his own beverage - a Gut Punch, one Abraham had never heard of before - and continued. "This bar gets an unusually high number of weird people. That's why I like to come here."

He clapped Abraham on the shoulder. "Need to go to the bathroom, back in a minute."

"Sure."

Abraham turned his attention back to Jill. The bald man had apparently made another order, this one even more ridiculous, judging by the cracks appearing in her professional facade. One side of her lip curled down, hinting at clenched teeth, and her forehead crinkled briefly in a twitch of frustration. The man startled in realization that he was finally irritating his host, and made a quick escape after silently finishing his drink. After the man exited, Jill's shoulders dropped as she sighed and shook her head.

"Does this make me a sadist?" Abraham wondered aloud.

"It doesn't hurt anybody to simply watch," a new voice said.

Abraham turned around to see a woman standing beside him, holding a drink in her hand and wearing an amused expression on her face.

"I don't think that we're sadists," she said, smiling. "We just watch. It's the crazies like the cryptic-order man who are sadists."

Abraham slightly tilted his head. "But if we just watch and don't intervene, doesn't that make us guilty of the same crime?"

Abraham looked the woman up and down as she took in his response. She had almond-brown skin, and a smooth, warm complexion. She had soft facial features that boasted high cheekbones, full, dainty lips, and thick lashes. She had dark-brown, medium-length hair that shone softly in the lighting of the bar. She was dressed casually, in a pair of form-fitting blue jeans and a clean, white button-up shirt, of which the top two buttons were left open.

She was incredibly attractive, Abraham concluded, gulping as he forced himself to keep his eyes held up to hers.

She laughed, moving to hold her drink with two hands so that she would not spill it. Abraham wasn't sure if she was laughing at his question or his poorly-concealed unease.

Recovering, she casually strode up to Abraham's table, smiling.

"May I sit here?" she asked politely.

In the corner of his peripheral vision, he noticed Ali coming back from the bathrooms. When he noticed the woman at the table, he gave Abraham a thumbs-up and a proud grin, and moved to sit somewhere else.

"Sure," Abraham managed to say.

_Is...is this really happening?_

Her smile grew, and she gently placed her drink on the table and sat on the stool next to Abraham's.

"To answer your question..." she started, running a finger through her hair, "I think that would apply if we were watching a crime. Like, if we didn't stop a murderer or a thief. But here?" She turned her head to look at Abraham.

"If we 'intervened' for all the crazies, we'd drive away all their business!" she laughed.

"I guess that's true," Abraham said. He found her laugh to be contagious, and his unease was starting to melt away.

"I'm Sara, by the way," she said, offering her hand.

"Abraham," he answered, taking her hand in his own and shaking gently.

A brief silence settled in after their introductions, but it didn't feel awkward.

"I think she's very impressive," Abraham said after a while. "Er, the bartender woman. The way she handles all those crazy customers."

Sara nodded in agreement. "Jill's quite impressive, isn't she?"

"You know her?"

She nodded again. "Only for a few months, but we chat for a while whenever I stop by. Sometimes we go do something fun together when our schedules work."

"Oh, I see. I guess you're here to relieve stress from work, too?"

She smiled and prodded his chest with her index finger. "On a Friday night? Of course. Who isn't?"

"Yeah, you're probably right." Abraham looked away and scratched his head. He was much calmer, now, but this was still a scenario where he had no idea what to do. Did she approach him just to chat?

Or, uh...

His mind shuddered at the possibilities.

"So, Abraham," Sara began sweetly. "You work at the BAT?"

"I, uh...yeah. How did you know that?"

"An educated guess," she said, pointing to the pocket of his pants. A pen with his workplace's logo was sticking out of his pocket.

_...she actually noticed that?_

"Good eye," Abraham complimented, tucking the pen away deeper into his pocket.

"So what's a cute guy like you doing in the nerd hive?" She teased.

"Uh...I, um..." Abraham stammered. She giggled at his returning awkwardness.

_For fuck's sakes, man, what are you? A high school student? Get a hold of yourself!_

Abraham inhaled sharply and shook his head, laughing nervously. "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm one of those nerds. I work on the computers there."

That...didn't sound very cool. Surely, he could do better than that.

"I'm the lead scientist on one of our current projects, actually," Abraham said aloud, trying not to sound _too_ boastful.

"Ooh, sounds important," Sara cooed. "Is it fun work?"

"Fun?" Abraham blinked. "Uh, I wouldn't really call it fun...satisfying, though. Yeah, I'd say it's pretty satisfying. Challenging work, but I'm motivated to see it through. I think a lot of people will benefit from our project."

"So, what are you?" Abraham joked, taking another drink and finishing his glass. "A spy from another agency, trying to get me drunk so I'll spill the trade secrets?"

Abraham shook his head and chuckled. Was it that funny? Maybe he had had too much...

Sara smiled but said nothing, her posture straight and firm.

"Uh, sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his head. "I was just teasing you back."

"I know," she said, nodding. "But you were right...sort of."

"I, uh...what?"

_Is...did she just say she's a spy? What?_

"You caught me," Sara smiled, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward.

_What? What?_

"What?" He croaked.

"I _did_ have an ulterior motive for approaching you, Abraham," she purred huskily. She lingered towards him like a predator approaching its cornered prey, playfully brushing a finger against his arm. The position afforded him a view at her ample cleavage, and Abraham jerked his head back, quickly turning his gaze upwards. The seductive promise of her eyes wasn't much better, and he suddenly became very interested in the bottom of his empty glass.

Abraham felt his pulse increasing.

And then, in an instant, she withdrew, falling back to her own stool, back straight, fingers interlocked. She smiled coyly, as if the last fifteen seconds had never happened.

She cleared her throat and began speaking in a calm and neutral tone.

"The truth is, I'm a freelance journalist. I _do_ want to hear all about the BAT from you."

...of course.

There was no way someone like her would take a genuine interest in him. She was just leading him on, trying to entice details out of him.

"But you're wrong, Abraham," she said in a soothing tone, noticing his darkening facial features. "I'm not trying to ruin your career, and I wasn't leading you on."

She picked up her stool and scooted closer to Abraham. He watched her guardedly, unsure of what to make of her anymore.

She leaned closer, nodding sympathetically. "I know the BAT works on a lot of secretive stuff. I'm not looking for specific details, nothing that could get you in trouble. Besides..."

She leaned even closer and whispered into his ear. "My interest in you is genuine."

Her voice sent shivers down his spine.

"I don't know if I believe you," he said after a while.

She smiled and leaned closer still, bringing her face to his.

"Let me prove it," she whispered, bringing her lips to his.

* * *

As her soft, feminine lips claimed his, she knew that she had won.

He still doubted her, she knew that much.

But he didn't care. He wanted nothing more than to avoid spending another night alone in his oversized apartment. The lure was prepared.

All she had to do now was cast, as she knew he would bite.

She pulled back from the kiss, smiling gently at him. Her constant switching between seductive and coy moods had thrown off his balance, and he stared at her with a bewildered expression.

"My place is only a block from here," Sara said, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling him in closer to her. He mumbled something incoherent as she whispered into his ear.

"So what would you like first? Business...?"

She pulled him closer and brushed her lips against his again, pulling away as quickly as she came. His dark brown eyes followed her every move, not daring to look away from her again.

As she leaned back once more, her cute smile grew into a lewd grin.

"...or pleasure?"

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Single-word Operation names, what heresy!
> 
> Hello, everyone! This was a very short, very simple operation, but hey, that's how they go sometimes. Sometimes everything goes perfectly to plan and you never even have to fire a shot! Not every operation will go this smoothly. Saying too much might spoil my plans, but ADVENT is going to win a couple fights, one of which is coming sooner rather than later.
> 
> I had considered including some Chryssalids as living landmines for this operation, but decided against it. It's a little too early for them to show up - they haven't received their 'burrowing' firmware update, yet. Get on it, devs.
> 
> My biggest fear for this story is that I'll rush through the midgame. You see, I'm so eager to get to the endgame, which I have gloriously planned out with all kinds of awesome operations, plot twists, and the like. And I'm extremely eager for when I finally get to write scenes with the Commander after he is rescued.
> 
> So I have to keep taking breaks and evaluating my ideas for the midgame. Am I going too fast? Is that character going to be fleshed out enough? Stuff like that. I also need to make sure I don't write myself into a corner...
> 
> I'd like to take the time to thank Xabiar (author of The Atlas Protocol and The Hades Contingency, two very large XCOM fanfics) for leaving me such in-depth and analytical critiques. Reviews are continually helpful in improving my writing and motivating me to write more frequently.
> 
> The Other Side of the Mountain: Mujahideen Tactics in the Soviet-Afghan War is a real book by Lester W. Grau. Pretty interesting read. He also wrote the counterpart book, The Bear Went Over the Mountain, which shows the Soviet perspective. I actually debated for a while if I should use this book, or something else. In the end, I decided to stick with it, as Hamid is the type of guy who would take an interest in stuff like this. He's very practical in that regard, much like Morgan.
> 
> The codename for this operation is a reference to P.T. Deutermann, the author of the novel Train Man.
> 
> Jill the bartender and her two crazy customers were also a reference, but I doubt many people will recognize it. It was from the visual novel VA-11-HALL-A: Cyberpunk Bartender Action. It's on Steam, and I highly recommend it if you have even a passing interest in visual novels. There's no real gameplay to speak of, but the writing, visual design, and music are all exceptional.
> 
> Inspiration music used in the creation of this chapter:
> 
> Carefree Days, by Sebastien Skaf, for the Emilia/Hamid scene in the barracks
> 
> Heart of the City - (VA-11-HALL-A Soundtrack), for the Operation
> 
> Every Day is Night - (VA-11-HALL-A Soundtrack), for the bar scene
> 
> \-----
> 
> UPDATED! Character pool and imgur album now includes Emilia, Hamid, and Damien! If you do check them out, remember to take a look at their biographies! I spent a good bit of time on them.
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a dropbox link can be found by searching the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom). Simply search for 'Revenant' and you should find a relevant thread.
> 
> Likewise, if you're simply interested in seeing an image album of what all the characters look like, that can be found here: imgur/a/OmijF
> 
> Note that you'll have to add the .com after imgur yourself, damn formatting restrictions. Alternatively, find the link on the reddit thread.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Howdy folks! Couple of things to say before we start. While prototyping this chapter (more on this at the end notes), I realized my plans for this chapter conflicted with something I wrote in an earlier one. It wasn't a major issue, but I'd like to avoid plot holes, no matter how small. As such, I've gone back and rewrote a section of Chapter 3 - the scene where Karim and Bradford discuss the overall progress of XCOM. It isn't a major change, but it makes the overall timeline cleaner.
> 
> Also, I changed two words at the end of Chapter 4. The video of Selena's birthday (the one that Morgan found) was one week before the fall of the original XCOM, not two.
> 
> I don't expect that I'll have to retcon something again. Chapter 3 was quite a while ago, and I believe that I've improved as a writer since then.
> 
> Next, thank you to Bilfdoffle for leaving a review pointing out the valid criticism of consistency in this story - specifically, inner thoughts and character names. Going forward, I will be more uniform with how I indicate a character's inner thoughts. No more confusing quotation marks for mental dialog, I'll use either italics or nothing at all.
> 
> Second, while I don't think this story has that many characters, it's a fair point that it can get confusing to keep track of people when many of them have multiple names or nicknames. From a narration perspective, I'll be more consistent about this. If the narration starts a scene with Emily, it will continue to call her Emily, and won't randomly throw in her nickname/callsign. I'm thinking of trying to keep a clear division - nicknames and ranks in the field, first names at home base. Obviously there will be exceptions (cough dialogue cough), but I'll try to keep it as clear as possible.
> 
> That's the power of constructive feedback, baby. Thanks again to all my reviewers, favoriters, and followers!

There weren't any test runs of the drone scheduled for today, so Abraham spent the morning quietly debugging the targeting code in his office.

Well, he would have, if he wasn't so incredibly distracted.

His head was still abuzz with the events of the night prior. The skeptic in him struggled to accept that last night could have ever happened, but was constantly silenced by the proof of his memories. He wasn't drunk, and remembered the whole ordeal fairly clearly.

 _Perhaps too clearly,_ Abraham thought, cheeks flushing as yet another particularly intense moment flooded back into his mind. He sighed and leaned his chair back, cradling his head with his arms. There was no way he was going to get any work done like this.

Try as he might, Abraham could not silence his critical side, and his mind was a swirling vortex of suspicion and tingling euphoria.

_Is this some kind of long-game con? She plainly said that she had an ulterior motive. So it's for her job...but, if it was just for her job, would she have really gone that far? Is interviewing me really that important to her?_

Abraham struggled with the opposing thoughts for a while, eventually coming to a conclusion he was equally unsure about.

_Is it that hard to believe that this is just a happy coincidence? That this is just a mutually beneficial event for both of us?_

...he wasn't sure if he cared even if she _was_ playing some kind of crazy long-game. Anything that could bring such...passion, into his life, seemed a worthy pursuit to him. And if she did dump him once she got all that she needed from him, it might not sting if he was expecting it.

...maybe. He'd just have to wait and see. They had exchanged phone numbers, and agreed to meet at the Hanging Gardens in a few days, so Abraham could fulfill his half of the 'arrangement'. Maybe that would be the end of it, maybe not.

Two sharp knocks at the door drew Abraham's attention.

"Come in," he said, leaning forward and sitting up straight.

It was his boss, sharply dressed and creepy as ever.

Normally, Abraham would have silently lamented having to interact with Director Vector, but today, he welcomed the opportunity. It would hopefully tether his haywire thoughts back down to earth. And besides, maybe he could do with trying to copy some of that incredible lady bartender's professionalism.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Tannous," the Director began. "I'm glad I caught you before you left for lunch."

Abraham blinked. It was past noon?

He glanced at the time display on his computer.

_Holy shit, it's past noon. Just how long was I daydreaming?_

The Director cleared his throat. "I'll keep this short. Just thought I should tell you in person - the development board sent us an updated agenda. The prototype has a new requirement - the details are in your work email."

Abraham nodded. "Okay. I'll take a look before I go."

"Excellent. Let me know if you have any questions or foresee any problems. Have a good day, Doctor."

The Director gave a half-wave and left, closing the door behind him.

_How strange. That...that almost seemed like a normal interaction. Did he do something different? Or is it just my attitude?_

Attitude...was the answer really all that simple?

Abraham shrugged and started to hum to himself as he opened up his work email folder, finding the relevant email. The Director had sent it out just a few minutes ago.

"How diligent," Abraham remarked, opening the email's attached file and beginning to read.

...

"Oh, alright," Abraham said after a minute, clearly relieved.

He had expected far worse. The higher-ups at ADVENT were simply requesting the inclusion of a new feature - the ability for local ADVENT officers to issue priority commands to drones. The feature was to be utilized through a kind of targeting computer included an officer's helmet. Creating a priority command function would be simple enough, but Abraham was uncertain as to how difficult it would be to work with the helmet's targeting device. He would probably have to go through some more paperwork and contracts...ADVENT was notoriously secretive when it came to the equipment of their peacekeepers.

Another pair of knocks at the door drew his attention once again.

"Come in!"

It was his coworker Ali, this time, and he wore a satisfied smirk as he entered Abraham's office.

"I think this is the part where you thank me," Ali said with a grin.

"Uh, yeah," Abraham laughed nervously. "Thanks for the invite. I, uh, I'll find a way to pay you back sometime..."

"Pshaw," Ali waved him off. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I set that up or anything - you just got lucky."

"Lucky, huh..." Abraham muttered, looking away with a smile.

" _Really_ lucky, judging by that stupid look on your face when you showed up this morning. I'm guessing you haven't gotten much work done, either, huh?" Ali's tone was joking, but not accusing.

"That obvious, huh?"

"I'll say. You were broadcasting it to the world, my friend."

Ali gave a hearty laugh, which gradually turned into a satisfied sigh. "Actually, I take it back. You owe me a drink, next time."

"Hah, sure. Next one's on me."

Ali laughed and excused himself out of Abraham's office. Abraham simply sat there for a few minutes, thinking, before collecting himself and going out to get some lunch.

* * *

Morgan strode with purpose through the tunnel network, making her way down to the base of the subterranean maze, towards the Operations Center. She hummed a tune as she walked, although she couldn't remember where she had heard it.

The tunnels were sparsely populated, and it didn't take her long to reach her destination. Morgan walked over to the security control panel mounted on the wall, adjacent to the sturdy doors that guarded the Operations Center. Morgan bent forwards, presenting her eyes for the retinal scan while placing her left hand on the fingerprint scanner. The control panel beeped twice and a green light flickered on, while a picture of Morgan appeared on the panel's display.

" _Access granted. Welcome, Enigma._ " The deep, metallic voice of Haji the AI greeted Morgan, and the metal doors slid open.

_Man, Haji is so cool!_

Morgan mirrored the cheerful smile present in her ID picture, and hopped through the doors. The room was mostly empty, save for a pair of female analysts looking up at the hologlobe. One of them noticed Morgan enter, and waved her over.

"The Director's waiting for you in his office," the woman said after they had exchanged greetings.

"Okay, thanks!" Morgan beamed.

"Keep up the good work!" The woman waved as Morgan left.

* * *

"Come in," Karim said, after there was a knock at the door to his office.

He already knew who it was. He had grown accustomed enough to Morgan to recognize her presence without seeing or hearing her. It was a curious sensation, similar to how one's hair stood up when rubbed against a balloon.

"Good afternoon, Director!" Karim's student said as she entered, her visage light and energetic, as always.

Karim had come to a realization in recent months, bolstered by the doctor's announcement that Morgan's powers had been growing. Her abilities were more than a curious oddity - they were a whisper of something more, something incredibly vague, yet incredibly tantalizing.

She was more than just a happy young woman - she was an incredibly important asset for both research and morale around the base.

Psionics was no magician's trick, he knew that much. But it was unclear if humans were truly capable of utilizing the strange power - and certainly if they were capable of using it to the degree of the aliens.

Karim found it hard to believe that Morgan would have simply received her ability from the ether. Surely, it stood to reason that at least _one_ of her parents had abilities of a similar nature, even if perhaps dormant, or in a weaker form? He found himself wondering over possible similarities between Morgan and that of her father.

Then again, he was unsure if the similarities were there at all. It was true, he had worked in close proximity with the man, but...perhaps he was simply imagining things out of nostalgia.

Either way, he was certain that Morgan had inherited her father's incredibly versatile intellect. When he first met the Commander, he hadn't expected much from him. But Karim had been quite surprised to learn that his knowledge extended well beyond military matters, and that he was actually quite the deep thinker. Karim had come to thoroughly enjoy his joint, philosophical discussions with the Commander and the late Raymond Shen.

_A pity that Doctor Vahlen was too busy to attend the majority of them._

"Uh, Director?" Morgan's voice caused him to flinch and shake his head.

"My my, did I zone out?" he chuckled. "Today _is_ an odd day."

"It is?" Morgan cocked her head to the side, an indication of her endless curiosity.

"It is," Karim repeated. "Now, take a seat and let's see what you've learned."

"Right!" Morgan sat down on the opposite side of Karim's desk and pulled her tablet computer out of her satchel bag. She powered it on and slid it across to Karim. On it was the picture of a rural farm, perhaps in the American Rockies, at the edge of a thick forest. There was the main house, a barn, a shack, a field of corn, and a fenced-off enclosure for animals. It was daylight, in what seemed to be spring or summer, judging from the trees and flowers. There were several more photos after, all of the same farm from different angles, as well as a map of the area.

Morgan had used a program to digitally draw over the photos, highlighting certain parts, drawing lines, and leaving circles and x marks over the terrain.

"As review," he said, clearing his throat and placing the tablet down. "Strategy governs...?"

"Strategy governs wars, tactics govern battles," Morgan recited.

Karim was impressed with Morgan's progress over the past year, satisfied that she had a strong understanding of the core strategies involved in a guerrilla war. He had begun to move her onto the basic tactics of battles, how squads of soldiers moved, how and where they should take cover, and how to attack positions. Admittedly, it was not his area of expertise, and he was merely laying the groundwork for Bradford to take over later.

"Very good. Now, if I recall correctly, you had a squad of six soldiers tasked with seizing control of the farm. There were two enemies visible, and two invisible, none of which were alerted to your presence. You may begin."

Morgan nodded, now fully serious. The mildly electric sensation brushing against Karim's nerves evaporated. "Right. To begin with, I would have the soldiers sneak through the forest and take cover at the shack at the edge of the farm. That has a good line of sight to the barn, so I would have the sniper take out the enemy in the house's second floor window. Then, I would have the gunner suppress the enemy in the barn, while the rest of the squad advanced along the fence perimeter..."

'Why the fence perimeter?" Karim questioned.

"The hay bales and farm equipment could serve as cover, and the barn itself blocks the line of sight from any hidden enemy in the house. And there's no windows or doors on the side of the barn - only the front and back. So they _should_ be safe while they approach."

Karim nodded. It was a reasonable course of action.

"After they cleared the barn," Morgan continued, "I'd have the sniper reposition to the corner of the barn, where they'd have a clearer shot at the house. The gunner would regroup with the other four members. And...um..."

Morgan's serious tone faltered and she bit her lip. "I didn't figure out what to do after that. There isn't any cover to approach the house from."

"A common problem," Karim said. "There often is no safe approach. Still, we have to clear that house somehow, and there's at least one enemy hiding in it. Give me your best guess."

Morgan frowned and looked down in thought. "I guess...I guess they could...blow it up?"

Karim arched an eyebrow. "More specifically? What would you blow it up with?"

"Uh...I guess we don't have any explosives, huh..."

Morgan sighed and drooped her shoulders. "I don't know, Director. I'm sorry."

Karim sighed as well and straightened his posture. "Morgan," he began. "I think the problem is that you are looking for the perfect solution. A way through to the end without risk."

She lifted her head and looked at him.

He shook his head. "In reality, that is a myth. There is never a perfect solution. You _must_ learn to accept the fact that you are placing living, breathing people in mortal danger, and learn to work with that fact. I chose this scenario specifically to pinpoint that. There is no good way to approach the house. The safest solution would likely be to throw smoke grenades and run through that, but, if the enemy is watching, they could still shoot blindly at the cloud."

"Oh..." Morgan gripped her arm with her other hand and looked away, expression downcast.

"Now, do not be discouraged. You did well enough up until that point. I believe you have enough of an understanding to move on to more advanced scenarios - I shall let Central know that it is finally his turn to teach you a few things."

"Really?" Morgan's face lit up with interest.

Karim smiled. "Yes. It's time you learned from someone other than me, anyway. With him, you can expect much more of a challenge. Up until now, you've only worked with scenarios where you had most, if not all of the information at the start, and you had an entire day to puzzle it out. He'll put you through active tests, where the scenario plays out in front of you, and you have to give your answers on the fly."

"Okay," Morgan nodded firmly.

"That said, it's going to take him a day or so to prepare, so you're stuck with me a while longer. In the meantime, let's go over proper radio communications protocol, as you'll be using that before long..."

* * *

The vibrations caused by the helicopter's descent roused Specialist Damien Black from his half-slumber.

He blinked and looked around tiredly, yawning after he remembered that he was the only passenger in the XCOM-owned helicopter. The copilot's voice crackled through the interior speaker, letting him know that they would be touching down in about five minutes. Damien shook his head vigorously to shake the tiredness out of his body, and straightened his posture. He absentmindedly drummed on his knees for a while, before his thoughts drifted away.

_What was I thinking about, again...?_

_Oh, right. It was what Emily said...that all people enjoy learning._

Was that really true? Damien had known plenty of idiots, plenty of stubborn people who refused to change their minds even when presented with evidence against them. Was Emily too optimistic, or was she right? Do stubborn jackasses actually relish in their ignorance, meaning that they dislike learning? Or do they simply avoid anything that conflicts with their current beliefs?

...actually, wouldn't that second option be worse?

Damien shook his head, clearing away the thoughts. It was all too much for his tired mind. He would need to write his thoughts down to organize them. It would be nice to be able to contribute something to his discussions with Emily, for once...maybe he could bring the subject up again, when he got back.

Which could take a while, admittedly...

Damien was en route to Arzen Outpost, a tiny resistance haven hidden in the Alborz Mountains of Iran. Arzen had less than thirty permanent residents - it was really more of a staging post for other activities. One of which was Damien's objective.

A recruiter from Arzen had managed to make contact with an independent resistance group hiding in the former national capital, Tehran. He had managed to convince the group - known as Winter's Fangs - to unite with XCOM. Well, he had managed to convince them to _consider_ joining, anyway. That was why Damien was here - he was to serve as the 'official representative' of a sort. Even if the Fangs agreed to join right away, there was a considerable amount of work to do. Standardizing their communications, tallying their numbers and inventory, coming up with positions and schedules...

Depending on the size of the group, it could take anywhere from a week to a month or two.

Damien had been so invested in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that the helicopter had landed until the pilots came and tapped him on the shoulder. He thanked them, gathered his things, and exited the helicopter via the side door.

It was perhaps two in the afternoon, and it was a very clear day, without a single cloud in the sky. It was surprisingly chilly, as well - this high in the mountains, there was a cold bite in the air.

Arzen Outpost was similar to Karrick. It had a landing pad, a few sturdy concrete buildings, and not much else. There were, however, a few large shanty-houses clustered together, along with a few gardens and planter boxes. The place seemed to get its power from a hybrid solar-wind generator, although Damien wasn't sure where they got their water from. Perhaps they melted snow.

"Welcome to Iran, Mr. Black!" a male voice said.

Damien turned around to see a man below the landing pad, looking up at him. He was dressed warmly, wore sunglasses, and had curly, dark hair. Further behind him, a few men, women, and children looked curiously at the landing pad from their dwellings.

"Thank you!" Damien hopped off the landing pad and moved over to shake the man's hand. "I take it you're Amir?"

"I am!" Amir returned his handshake with a firm grip, clearly excited. "Do you need anything before we go, Mr. Black? Food, water, bathroom? We've got a four or five hour car trip ahead of us, so I'd like to give my briefing on the way."

"Call me Damien. And I could use all three, to be honest. Haven't had a chance to stretch my legs since I left late last night."

Amir nodding in understanding. "Of course. There's no need to rush. When you're ready, come find me at the largest concrete building, and we will go."

Amir pointed out the building to him, and gave a half-wave as he left Damien to his business.

Damien thanked him and walked towards the Outpost, silently suspecting that this was going to be by far the friendliest reception he would have for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Meanwhile, three members of Hammer squad were celebrating the success of their mission in the recreation lounge. With the mission over, Thundersaw and Bastoli became Pete and Nick, looking to unwind a little. Even flawless missions built up stress, after all.

Kenji and Shayu were welcome to join, of course, but they had opted not to come.

Pete sat with Surge - or rather, Liz - at one of the couches, and occasionally took swigs from a bottle of beer. Liz opted for a can of soda, seeking to preserve XCOM's meager supply of alcohol a while longer. At the other end of the room, Nick was mingling with some of the people that were already present in the lounge when the Hammers had arrived.

"It was incredible, Liz," Pete laughed. "You've got to see it!"

Pete rotated his upper half around to turn towards the other end of the room, where Nick was.

"Hey, Nick!" he boomed, cupping his free hand to his mouth to amplify his voice. "You've got the video, right?"

Nick walked over from the far side of the room, a sealed can of beer in one hand. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

"Of the bridge?" he mumbled. "Yeah, sure...hang on, I'll go get it..."

Nick shambled back over to the table he had been sitting at, wobbling a little on the way.

"He looks a little bit drunk, huh?" Liz commented.

"He's a real lightweight, that's for sure. Do you think he would fall over if I pushed him?" Pete asked, only half-joking.

"Yes. And no, you're not allowed to."

Pete laughed as Nick returned, the can of beer traded for a tablet computer. He handed it to Liz, who pressed the play button on the prepared video file. It was a replay of the demolition of the rail-bridge, and Liz whistled in appreciation as the bridge exploded into rubble, shockwave racing towards the camera of the Skyranger.

"Damn, you were right," she said. "That _was_ good!"

Pete laughed, shaking his head. "You really had to be there to fully appreciate it though. The _sound_ that X4 makes is incredible!"

"It was Pete's idea," Nick said. "Told, uh...Firebrand, to record it for posterity..."

Surge turned around and poked Nick in the chest. "You get so mellow when you're drunk, Nicky. It's a nice change, we should do this more often!"

Nick dramatically pointed at Liz and tried to say something, but was interrupted by his own body when he hiccuped.

Pete, a little drunk himself, found the sight tremendously funny, and roared with laughter. Nick grumbled and slunk away, muttering a string of incoherent Italian cursing.

"Hey, Liz!" Pete turned his attention back to Liz. "Hey, what's your favorite curse?"

Her good mood evaporated in an instant, Liz glaring harshly at him.

He laughed again. "Come on, humor me!"

"I actually do have one..." Liz sighed and shook her head, disappointed in herself for playing along. "Although I don't know if anyone actually uses it seriously."

Pete grinned. "Well, what is it?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "Seppo."

Pete looked at her blankly. "The hell's a seppo?"

"It's Australian slang. It basically means 'shitty American'. Comes from septic tank...you know, septic yank, because they call Americans Yanks."

"Oh, that's pretty good! Always wanted to go to Australia, you know."

"Mm. I like Australians, but their country can fuck off. Everything there is deadly."

Pete raised his half-empty can of beer. "I'll drink to that."

"You'll drink to anything."

"Almost anything. I have _some_ standards."

Liz coughed. "I'll believe it when I see it. Say, are you drunk enough to come up with any nicknames yet?"

Pete was the man responsible for assigning the most nicknames to other XCOM personnel. Some of them stuck, some did not, but everyone agreed that he was the most creative when he was drunk.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Who for?"

"Well, our three new rookies are going to need one eventually."

"Bah," Pete waved her away in annoyance. "You know the rules. Nobody gets a nickname until they've had their first mission."

"Doesn't hurt to plan ahead."

He shook his head firmly. "It's got to be relevant."

Liz shrugged. "Fine, you're the expert."

She stood up and rolled her shoulders. "Think I'll go back to the barracks. You gonna stay?"

"Mm, for a while longer."

"Alright." Liz turned to leave, but stopped herself, remembering something. She turned back to Pete, raising her index finger.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot...Abdul got to Morgan. Make sure you start double checking your surroundings when you enter a doorway."

Pete laughed and told her that he welcomed the challenge.

* * *

Damien sighed tiredly and stretched out his limbs, sitting on the edge of the bed in his hotel room. It had been a long car ride, and he would have loved to go right to bed, but he still had work to do. He had already swept the room for electronic bugs, but he needed to do some research on the area. Damien grunted and pushed himself off the bed, moving to take some papers and maps out of his backpack. He gathered the things on his bed and spread them out across it.

His hotel was located in the northern district of Tehran, where the international businesses and wealthier locals liked to live. The room itself was fairly simple, a comfortable medium between extravagance and poverty. Hopefully, he wouldn't stick out too much, and if he did, he could pretend to be a traveler on a budget.

Tehran was a jewel of a city that had lost its luster in recent years. More and more businesses had left for ADVENT megacities, with droves of the populace going with them. Even tourism, one of Tehran's most important industries, brought in less people with every year.

_The alien's cultural draw is no joke..._

Drawing tourists into their Centers of Progress was a very important goal for ADVENT. It meant more people listening to their propaganda, more people potentially convinced to move to a megacity. It made their 'updated versions' of ancient World Wonders - like the Hanging Gardens - all the more offensive. Not only did they have the audacity to seize Earth's culture, the aliens used it against them.

It was disgustingly efficient.

Damien drummed on his chest to remind himself to focus. He recalled the instructions that Amir had given him - an address, a passphrase, and a time to show up. The Winter's Fangs apparently operated out of a large house in one of the poorer sections of the eastern district. When he arrived at 8 tomorrow morning, he was to knock twice and greet the doorman by speaking the phrase "The black cat jumped over the wooden fence," in Persian.

Not the best passphrase he had ever heard, but hey, these guys were apparently new at the whole 'resistance movement' thing.

Damien spent about an hour reviewing a map of the northern district and practicing his pronunciation of some common Persian phrases before going to bed. He fell asleep quickly, and had a strange dream about going to school on top of a snowy mountain.

* * *

Central Officer John Bradford was wrestling with his thoughts, alone in his office. It was late at night, and he was unlikely to be disturbed, so he had locked the door and pulled out the bottle of bourbon that he kept hidden away in one of his desk compartments, along with a small glass.

It was going to be another one of those nights.

John Bradford had a great deal of things he could think about to keep himself up at night, so he fell back on an old favorite: guilt.

He had so many things to feel guilty about that all the instances blended together, unless he narrowed them down. He had guilt for surviving when so many others had fallen, guilt for not doing a better job for Selena and Morgan, guilt for drinking again...

Worst of all was the guilt for feeling guilty, when he knew that he had to keep himself in good condition in order to lead.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and beginning to massage his temples. He knew he shouldn't go down this path, but he knew that he was going to, anyway. And if he was going to do it, he may as well start it on his terms.

John reluctantly allowed himself to fall back into his memories.

* * *

John did not consider himself an especially bright or perceptive man, but he had grown familiar enough with the Commander to understand some of his subtle tells. He was a master of controlling himself, but he possessed one weakness - his two infant daughters. John had never dared to bring the subject up with him - he recognized the almost imperceptible darkening of his expression, the sharpening of his eyes, when he got angry.

Maybe _angry_ wasn't strong enough of a word. It was more like... _furious_.

John couldn't really blame him.

Morgan and Selena did not live at the XCOM base. They were taken care of the same way all the others were - by a front-organization operated by the Council. Robin and Cordelia were not the only members of XCOM with young children, after all.

The fact that the Council had its own daycare, orphanage, whatever it was...disgusted John. It made sense, of course - the children had to be taken care of _somehow_ \- but they were, in effect, hostages. After all, no one would consider deserting or sabotaging XCOM while the organization that forced them there held their children. Not everyone was a parent, of course, and many kids were taken care of by the non-military spouse, but it was a clear and effective message from the Council.

_We own you._

John sighed and poured himself the first glass of the night.

It was easy to hate the Council. Barring a few exceptions, nobody volunteered to join XCOM. It was a punishment, a place for exiles who could still be useful.

XCOM was never built to win. It was just the Council's half-assed attempt at trying to play both sides. If XCOM won and managed to repel the invasion, great. But if they didn't, each member-nation was secretly preparing its own deal with the invaders. France was the first to go, bowing out of the Council within the first month.

The Council's indecision severely hampered XCOM. When the organization proved that it could get results done on a shoestring budget, their funding was _decreased,_ not increased, since they could clearly work on a pittance. John had always hated that kind of bureaucratic bullshit. It was one of the reasons why he himself was 'promoted' to XCOM.

But, in the end, it was all pointless, anyway. Even if every single nation on Earth had come together to fully fund XCOM and work together, it wouldn't have mattered. What XCOM understood as the invasion force - a few hundred UFOs, a few thousand ground troops - was just the tip of the spear.

Earth never stood a chance.

...

John shook his head, redirecting his thoughts to the chain of events that allowed him to escape the attack on the old base.

Robin and Cordelia requested the Council's orphanage to bring their children over to the base for a day, so they could celebrate Selena's birthday. Apparently, the caretaker of the two girls was supposed to follow them around the base, but their parents had put a quick end to that so that they could celebrate privately. When their little party was over, Robin had found John and pulled him aside to speak privately.

He had a mission for him.

On paper, it was to accompany the caretaker woman back to the Council orphanage. But Robin had made his real intentions clear - he ordered him to take the next two days off for some shore leave de-stressing. The past week had been hell, with more missions and sorties in seven days than in the whole first month combined, and it was starting to wear at John.

He complained, of course, but John was silently glad for the chance to recuperate. So he had left with the caretaker woman and the two infants. He didn't really do anything - he merely sat in the same car - but it was an excuse, at least.

But they had never even reached the orphanage.

Halfway there, John received a communication from XCOM's intelligence division: the Council headquarters building had been destroyed by a massive explosion. It was apparently an act of internal sabotage, and a secretive terrorist group called EXALT had proclaimed their responsibility.

All quietly, of course. The general public never even knew that organizations called XCOM, the Council, or EXALT had ever existed.

Robin had ordered him to stay with his daughters. They were absolutely not permitted to return to the Council orphanage - if the enemy had the knowledge and means to eliminate the Council's center of command, they could potentially strike at any of their front organizations and bases. He wasn't willing to rule out the possibility that an orphanage was on that list.

John was worried that he would have to do something... aggressive. But thankfully, the caretaker woman, whose name he had forgotten, agreed with the Commander's logic, and the four of them had stopped at a nearby hotel, pretending to be a married couple under a fake name. They stayed there for two days, waiting for further word from either the Council or XCOM.

Despite everything, John could still remember how painfully awkward it was to have to go and buy diapers from the closest convenience store.

Around noon on the third day, John learned that the XCOM base had been attacked.

Neither of them knew what to do, so they continued to stay in the hotel. After a week, the United Nations globally announced the signing of the Guangzhou Accords, and the ADVENT organization was born.

...

What happened after that was too heavy to think about. John decided that he would avoid thinking about it until he had to.

...it suddenly occurred to John that he had never learned how Shen and Vahlen had escaped the attack. He knew that he wasn't the only XCOM member to have received some shore leave that week - some analysts, pilots, and soldiers all got some time off - but that list didn't include the heads of Research and Engineering, as far as he knew.

He could ask Lily about it, but...maybe it was better to just let sleeping dogs lie. And Vahlen? Nobody, not even Karim, had even the faintest idea of what happened to her.

He already knew Karim and Marai's stories. Karim was already away from the base when the attack happened - organizing some kind of grey market deal in Germany. And Marai's squad was in the old Skyranger, en route to some mission.

"Sure would be nice to have the grey market now," Bradford muttered aloud, pouring himself another glass.

XCOM had a small stockpile of ADVENT tech (and corpses), but there was simply no market for most of the artifacts XCOM recovered. What use did an independent resistance group have for the corpse of an officer? What use did an arms dealer have for a gun that exploded if you tried to use it? There were a few exceptions, of course, such as the newly reverse-engineered medical kit, but generally, recovered ADVENT tech was useless.

...for the moment, at least.

John leaned back and rolled his shoulders, working out some tension.

Of the ten soldiers in Marai's squad, and of the personnel who were released for shore leave, only nine had managed to find their way back to the resurgent XCOM. Five soldiers, two pilots, and two scientists. Everyone else, who had been present at the base, was either captured or killed during the attack.

That...that was still hard to comprehend. Even now, seventeen years later, the fact that all of those people were just _gone_ was hard to accept. There were hundreds of people at the old XCOM base. True, some of them had managed to escape or defect from the early form of ADVENT, but most were lost.

John was unsure how to feel about it. Part of him felt that he should have been there, like he had a duty to his comrades to go down with the ship. But another part of him reminded himself that he _was_ fulfilling his duty, carrying out the last order he had received from the Commander:

_Keep them safe for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The big reveal! The names of Selena and Morgan's parents won't come as a surprise to anyone who's played Fire Emblem Awakening. As I mentioned the last time I brought this up, this is not a crossover.
> 
> Oh, the plans I have...
> 
> I mentioned prototyping at the notes at the start of this chapter. I thought I'd share a little behind-the-scenes for you all. I have four stages of writing - conceptual, prototyping, drafting, and editing. Conceptual is what happens before I start even writing - basically, just daydreaming about what could happen or randomly happening upon inspiration. I tend to come up with a lot of good ideas on the bus, for example.
> 
> Prototyping is akin to brainstorming - actively thinking about scenarios, which I write down. The prototypes are just basically bullet points and suggested order for scenes of a chapter, roughly describing what happens in each scene. These frequently get switched around as I decide that something would be better later. For example, Morgan's scene this chapter was originally going to happen in Chapter Ten.
> 
> Drafting is the actual 'writing' part. When I first started writing, I was concerned I would have to struggle to constantly force myself not to edit as I write, but it really never was a big issue.
> 
> I always do a sweep for grammar/spelling/punctuation, but editing is typically a very fast affair that I can finish in an hour or two. I also make sure I'm correctly emphasizing the most important things in each scene, making sure there are enough details.
> 
> If you were curious, I use the program Evernote to write and organize all off my stuff with. It's free, and works quite well for me. I can link my devices with it, too, so if an idea strikes me while I'm away from home, I can write it down with my phone, and it will sync with my computer, so I won't have to write it twice. Pretty neat.
> 
> As one final, random note, it would be cool if XCOM 2 had a character age slider. It's one of the reasons I couldn't get Hamid's character to look quite right, so I just hid his face under a Shemagh Scarf. Shrug.
> 
> Inspiration music used in this chapter:
> 
> Sliske's Cellmate - RuneScape Soundtrack - Bradford scene
> 
> RuneScape has an amazing music team.
> 
> As always, if you're interested in downloading the characters in this story for use in your own XCOM 2 campaigns, a dropbox link can be found by searching the XCOM subreddit (r/xcom). Simply search for 'Revenant' and you should find a relevant thread.
> 
> Likewise, if you're simply interested in seeing an image album of what all the characters look like, that can be found here: imgur/a/OmijF
> 
> Note that you'll have to add the .com after imgur yourself, damn formatting restrictions.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Howdy, folks. I'm going to ask something that I normally wouldn't, as I understand it can be annoying and immersion breaking, but I'm willing to make an exception in this case. You'll see why, I hope.

The feeling of the next scene will be greatly enhanced if you put on some film noir jazz music. Something slow in the atmosphere, like a thick fog creeping in on a clear night...

* * *

It was four in the morning in the Garden City. It was warm outside, the fan in the ceiling keeping the room cool about as well as an industrial freezer kept water 'slightly chilly'. I was alone in my office, like I was most nights. A man like me, running a business like mine? Not surprising that I didn't see many people, not that it bothered me. Private eyes were a long dying business, ones in the so-called 'Centers of Progress' even more so.

But men like me had a certain way of finding things. More simply, trouble and I got along like a duck and water, and my base of clients knew that. When something - or someone - needed to be found on the quiet, I was the one to turn to.

For once, I didn't have to wait long.

Trouble walked in about halfway down the first bottle. There wasn't anything unusual about being gorgeous in this area of town, but she was something else. Thick blond curls of hair, an expensive dress, and the figure to match. She had sharp eyes, too. Sharp enough to put an eagle to shame.

I cleared my throat and sat up.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"That depends," she said, pulling a photograph out of her purse and placing it on my desk.

Interesting. It was a Sectoid, and not the fancy new variant, either. The mugshot of the tiny gray creature looked about as intimidating as an intergalactic toddler. The little guys weren't too happy about being left behind, and perhaps understandably turned to some shadier hobbies. A little drug use, a bit of petty theft.

But nothing serious.

"Is this about him?" I asked, cocking my head up at her.

"In a sense," she said, voice as smooth as the plating of a Sectopod. "His name is Gleepgrupp. Or rather, I suppose it _was_." She pulled a long cigarette out of her purse, and gave me an inquisitive look. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest," I waved her off.

The dame was smiling, but with a subject like this, I figured her smile was about as likely to be genuine as the advertisements on the packaging of her cigarettes.

"You see," she started. "Gleep turned up dead late this morning in the alley next to Valley's."

"Wouldn't have been my first guess," I admitted. "I can't imagine a psionic like him was allowed into a casino under any normal means."

She took a long drag and continued. Her attention seemed split between glances at me and the ceiling fan.

"Whatever he got involved with has got the boys in red stumped. I imagine that they'll never figure it out - hard to figure out the life of an ant from the perspective of an anteater."

I knew that the dame was holding back. They usually do. My gut was telling me she was involved in this, somehow, and my gut was usually right.

"A problem like this?" She gestured at the cabinet behind me, full of files and photographs from another time. "It's best left for men like you."

"That's all long behind me," I said. "But I'll look into it. Usual rates. I should have something for you in the morning."

"I'm sure that you will," she said, smiling once more and walking out of my office. The sight of her hips swaying as she left was a poisoned treat - purposefully trying to entice me, no doubt.

I sighed and started to gather a few things. There wasn't much to start with. The odds of ADVENT letting an outsider take a look at one of their crime scenes were the same as a newborn Chryssalid surviving more than two hours.

In other words? Nonexistent.

With that out of the way, there was really only one place to turn. When you had to tackle something big in this city, you started big, and worked your way down.

I was going to have to go see Big Tony.

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Hammer squad barracks_ **

"What did you think?" Emily asked, running a hand through her hair. "I'd like to get the actual American's perspective on it before showing it to the others."

The Hammer barracks was empty, except for herself and Elizabeth. Emily was sitting on her bunk, feet planted on the floor, while Elizabeth was sitting on a fold-up chair, looking at a laptop placed on a round, wooden table.

"I had no idea you were into detective stuff," Elizabeth chuckled, peeling herself back from the laptop's screen containing Emily's draft. "And, I already knew that you were a good writer, but hey, that was pretty good! I mean, I'm not really qualified to critique it, but I liked it a lot."

Emily smiled in relief. "It was a fun thing to write on the side. I always had a fondness for stories about detectives and criminals. I thought it would be a nice challenge to make a spin of it from our own reality."

Elizabeth grinned. "I'm impressed. You almost made me feel something for a Sectoid."

"They would be cute in a way, if they weren't so mercilessly bloodthirsty. I almost miss the little things."

"Hell, I _do_ miss the little shits," Elizabeth snorted. "They were easier to kill."

Elizabeth tilted her head and crossed her arms. "Say, haven't you started teaching the kids again, Em? How do you have time to work on this in the side?"

"It didn't take me long, really, only an hour or two."

"Really?" Elizabeth blinked. "That long?"

Emily raised an eyebrow, donning a mirthful smile. "Writing is a slow process, Elizabeth. At least for me, anyway."

"Huh," Elizabeth shrugged. "I'll take your word for it, I guess. Never did much, myself."

"You should try it, sometime. You might like it. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I've started teaching again."

"I'm..." Elizabeth bit her lip, suddenly appearing uneasy. "I'm glad that you're doing that. It's good to know that they're learning something...normal, I guess."

"Something is clearly bothering you," Emily said, getting up and taking a seat next to her friend, gently placing her hand on Elizabeth's forearm and rubbing gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I...yeah." Elizabeth sighed deeply and began to massage the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "I just don't know, Em. About...what I'm feeling about having kids in XCOM."

"They're all legal adults now, with the exception of Morgan," Emily pointed out.

"You know what I mean. They showed up at XCOM before they were legal, and Hamid was fighting for at least a year before that. I talked about this with Ashl- uh, Captain Marai, you know? Want to know what she had to say about Selena?"

Emily nodded.

"She said that there was hardly any civilian to beat out of her."

...

Elizabeth frowned and looked away. "...kids shouldn't have to be that tough."

"No, they shouldn't have to," Emily agreed, more to coax out the entirety of her friend's worries than to state her own thoughts.

"I feel more like her cool older friend, or her aunt, or something. Not like her squad leader." Elizabeth shook her head vigorously, red strands of hair tossing back and forth. "And I _know_ she has good reason to fight. Maybe the strongest reasons out of all of us. I told her as much when she volunteered. But...I just don't want to see them get hurt. I don't want to see them lose their innocence from fighting."

She sighed again. "As a soldier, I'm prepared to face death. To risk it myself, to see my friends die. But...they're _kids_ , you know?"

"I know." Emily nodded and squeezed her friend's arm, sighing deeply. "You know, the school I taught at back home was in a relatively wealthy and clean area, but I will never forget a particular student I had. A young man named Edward, fourteen years old."

Emily cleared her throat and looked to the side. "He was...a wake up call, of sorts. I was rather naive, looking back on it, assuming that I wouldn't have any children with difficult backgrounds. Edward's parents rotated in and out of incarceration, and he himself was caught up in a local gang. I had never before encountered such...defiance. He had such a dismal outlook on the world. He didn't trust me, didn't trust school, and didn't trust the other students."

"Deep down, such students want nothing more than the care and attention that was denied to them, but they refuse to accept it, for a variety of reasons. Thinking that such things are signs of weakness, that the provider is looking down on them, etcetera. I always set aside some extra time for Edward, to help him with his work privately. He hated to be corrected when there were others around."

Elizabeth frowned, unsure where Em was going with this.

"I was making such progress," Emily sighed. "I made a few cracks in his shell, but..."

"But what?" Elizabeth asked, certain she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Edward was killed during a violent fight between two gangs. He was stabbed seven times before bleeding out."

Elizabeth grimaced and gripped her own arm tightly. "...so what the hell is the moral of this story, again?"

Emily frowned and paused for a moment.

"I apologize," she said. "It was admittedly not the best anecdote to choose from. I think the point that I was ultimately going to make was...was that we are not helpless. Selena, Morgan, Hamid, all of our young members...they were forged in a cruel, harsh world. The only way to survive was to become tough. You are right, kids should not _have_ to be that tough. But they must be, until the environment of the world changes to no longer require it."

Emily coughed. "There is nothing we can do to change their pasts. All that we can do - what I feel we are _obligated_ to do - is show that them that there is more to this world than cruelty, pain, and loss."

There was a long silence between them.

Eventually, Elizabeth smiled sadly. "I'm glad you're here, Em. You make all this a lot easier to process. That was...way more eloquent than I would have ever come up with."

Emily returned the expression. "You don't give yourself enough credit. I simply already struggled with the issue, and came to that conclusion years ago." She tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "You know, you should discuss this with the others. I'm sure they are all dealing with similar concerns. Even Arkady, although he will likely be reticent to share."

Elizabeth looked at her blankly.

"I doubt he'll tell you," she clarified with a teasing laugh.

"You're probably right," Elizabeth laughed. "And I think I will. But not right away. I want to think about it on my own." She stood up and gently clapped Emily on the shoulder. "Thanks for playing psychiatrist, Em. I'm gonna head out."

"Of course. Anytime."

* * *

**_Babylon, Egypt - Central Plaza_ **

"It's rather impressive, isn't it?"

Abraham, was sitting on a bench in the large plaza at the heart of the city. He looked up to see Sara, who was dressed almost identically to when he had met her a few days ago, albeit now sporting a red shirt and a pair of sunglasses resting atop her head. She had a tan satchel bag slung over her chest.

"It's been a while since I really just took a moment to appreciate the scenery," he admitted. "Impressive architecture like this was mostly foreign to me, growing up. I guess that means I've gotten used to it."

"I imagine this one in particular is a little harder to look away from," Sara said, nodding. "Were you waiting long? Sorry if I kept you."

"Only a few minutes. I didn't mind the wait, anyway, the weather is nice today. Not too hot, for noon."

Abraham turned his head the other direction to look at the building he was previously looking at. The Hanging Garden was something of a cross between a botanical museum and an ornate palace. From this angle, a person would think that the Gardens were nothing more than a large, cube-like building, made of glass and white-steel, like most of the skyscrapers. But that was merely the entrance building, which itself was impressive: a large overhang cast a shadow over the entrance doors, thick metal beams sticking out underneath like an exposed ribcage. Various planters were full of vines and leafy ferns, some reaching a good distance down to the surface.

_How do they even water those?_

The roof of the overhang was obscured to Abraham, but he could see several varieties of tree cresting overhead, some of which were larger than others. Behind the entrance building stood the Hanging Gardens proper, with thick stairs carved of marble arranged in a tall, pyramid-like fashion. Sturdy columns held up platforms of soil, not entirely unlike a terrace farm, which held a tremendous variety of colorful foliage. Gentle waterfalls flowed in between the staircases, which pooled at the surface in a large, ornate fountain. A few butterflies flickered around the terraces, with a few happily chirping birds having nested in some of the trees. Abstract sculptures and majestic statues were inter-spaced among the flora, adding artistic flair.

The whole structure was far larger than Abraham had expected it to be, and it gave off a soothing vibe of balance and harmony with nature, the futuristic and modern designs matched with the natural beauty. It really did look like the ancient World Wonder.

_Well, supposedly. There aren't exactly any photos to compare it to._

"Don't you think it's odd that the modern Hanging Gardens were built in Egypt?" Sara mused, breaking Abraham out of his daydream. "Weren't they built in Iraq? Where, you know, _Babylon_ actually was?"

Abraham shrugged and pushed himself off the bench. "The very name of our city is questionable. Maybe the city planners got the area wrong, and just wanted to be consistent. Either way, Iraq doesn't have a megacity of their own, as far as I know."

"True enough." Sara pulled a notebook and a pen out of her satchel, giving Abraham an inquisitive look. "Shall we begin, then?"

Her sudden transition to 'professional mode' caught Abraham off-guard, and he blinked at her for a few moments.

_I've really got to get better at reacting to that._

"Sure." He gestured towards the Hanging Gardens, and they began to walk together. "What did you want to ask about first?"

"Can you give me a general idea of what it is that the BAT works on?"

_Odd question...that's nothing she couldn't get just from reading the website. I guess she's just starting things off with simple questions._

"The Bureau for the Advancement of Technology works on a variety of projects, but the goal for all of them is to create things that better the lives of the general populace," Abraham explained. He had done a little preparation for this, and he wanted to sound professional. "We work in collaboration with ADVENT peacekeeping forces pretty regularly. The majority of our projects are contracted by them."

"I see." She nodded in understanding, briefly stopping to scribble some notes.

"What's the environment like, working there? How are your coworkers, your superiors?"

"Well, it's very...results driven, I suppose would be a good term. Things are...amicable, for the most part, but we're not really there to make friends. I'm not, anyway. I generally prefer to just focus on my work. As for my superior?" Abraham trailed off, choosing his words carefully. "Well, he's pretty good, I suppose. Doesn't micromanage or interfere with our work. Steps in when he needs to. You've got to appreciate that, right?"

She nodded sympathetically. "We've all had bad bosses. Really makes us welcome the good ones that much more." She wrote down some more notes and snapped her fingers. "Okay, next, could you give me your general impressions on the White Knights?"

_Interesting._

"I think the White Knights are an overall good," Abraham said with a degree of caution. "There's potential for abuse there, obviously, but I believe the White Knights are a valuable boon, both to the policing force and the general public. So many constraints that a living officer must take into consideration are lifted when you take into account the durability and potential expendability of a robot. It makes it much easier to attempt things that a living officer cannot, and I think, ultimately results in safer law enforcement and less crime."

"An interesting perspective." Sara's tone was neutral, but Abraham felt that her mask had dropped briefly, her eyes giving away a flicker of disappointment.

_Maybe that's her angle? Is she an advocate against robots in the police?_

"You disagree?" Abraham asked, taking the initiative.

Her facial features tightened, and she seemed to look through him. She was silent for a moment.

"I have reservations about the weaponization of robots, yes," she admitted.

Abraham resisted the urge to shrug, as it would come off as callous and uncaring.

"Automization is inevitable in our society," he began. "The military and the police are not exempt from that. Practical application of robotics was inevitably going to expand beyond the realm of a UAV. And while I personally didn't work on the White Knight, I think it was well-handled."

She raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate?"

"Certainly. First of all, police-owned White Knights are forbidden from being armed with lethal weapons, which I wholeheartedly agree with. _No_ fully-autonomous robot that interacts with and around civilians on a regular basis should be given lethal force. Period. With that in mind, the White Knight is generally included in a police force for intimidation and riot suppression. It's not bothered by bottles, rocks, or even low-caliber gunfire. Simply put, it's the ideal solution for containing or detaining dangerous individuals without having to risk the life of a human officer."

"Without having to risk the life of a human officer," Sara repeated, writing down what he said. "I see."

The two had unknowingly arrived at the Hangings Gardens some time ago, having stopped to talk without realizing it.

"Shall we continue inside?" Abraham asked. "I could go on and on about this."

She smiled sweetly, her friendly demeanor shining through. "I believe it. This is a topic I find very interesting, even outside of work. I'd be interested to hear what you have to say."

Abraham returned her smile, and the two began to walk together once more.

* * *

"Well, I have to admit," Abraham said. "This was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. This place was great."

"It was my first visit here, as well," Sara admitted. "I liked it a lot, too. The Tau exhibit was really something."

Abraham was inclined to agree. One of the reasons he had put off coming to the city's main tourist attractions for so long was that, he figured a plant was just a plant. But the Hanging Gardens were actually very impressive, both architecturally and botanically. The Tau exhibit was a small section of the indoor gardens containing a sampling of alien flora from a faraway planet. It was remarkably colorful, the most prevalent plant being a...wiggly, he supposed the word was, fern, the resembled a giant green bean with yellow spots. There was a curious blue flower contained in a dark room that _literally_ shined, giving off a bioluminescent glow that he found oddly soothing.

All in all, the experience was far more enjoyable than he expected, multiplied by the fact that he got to experience it with a woman like Sara. Her interview had only lasted about an hour, and she made it clear for the remainder of their time exploring that her further questions were simply out of personal interest.

She was a curious and well-spoken woman, and it seemed she had the intellect to back up her good looks.

_But...what happens now?_

"I can tell what you're thinking, you know," Sara said, shifting into a wry smile. "You're thinking that we're done now, right?"

"Pretty much, yes," Abraham admitted. "Are we?"

She giggled and strode closer to him, leaning in close and poking him gently in the chest.

"Only if you want to be. I see no reason to suddenly go back to being strangers."

"Oh," he said weakly, cheeks beginning to flush. "Uh, me neither."

She leaned back, her smile growing even wider. "I hope you don't mind that I considered today as a date of sorts. I guess we _mixed_ business and pleasure this time, hmm?"

He chuckled nervously. "Aha, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sorry, I guess I just felt like all this was too good to be true..."

She stepped back and tilted her head, seeming genuinely curious. "Do you think we're moving too fast?"

He ran a hand through his hair and appraised her. "Honestly? Yes, probably. But I don't see any real reason to stop at this point. Although..."

"Hmm?"

"Why is it that you 'took an interest' in me? I don't believe we had ever interacted, let alone met, before the bar."

She nodded and her face turned serious. "A fair question. You can correctly guess that I already knew who you were, of course. I'd done my research on prospective targets for an interview."

_Interesting how I've gone from 'prospective target' to love interest in the course of two meetings..._

Sara shrugged. "The truth is probably unsatisfactory. I didn't go to the bar _intending_ to seduce you- that's hardly necessary for simple interviews - it was just pure coincidence. But you caught my attention, and I decided that you were interesting."

"How did I catch your attention?" Abraham asked, genuinely at a loss.

"It was the way you acted," Sara explained, holding a finger below her lip. "There are certain 'types' of people that go to bars. Not many go to just watch other people, you know. I guess I just found that rather...captivating."

Her sly smile returned. "Besides, you're pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. _Very_ much my type."

It was his turn to don an amused smile. "And what _is_ your type?"

"Tell you what," Sara said, stepping over to stand just in front of him. "Come by my place tonight around seven, and we can have dinner."

She leaned in even closer to whisper directly into his ear. "And after that, I'll tell you in _great_ detail _exactly_ what my type is..."

Her voice sent shivers down his spine, and his mind spun at the possibilities. His rational mind was done being skeptical of her.

"That sounds like fun," Abraham said, mustering more confidence into his voice than he knew he had. "I'll be there."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Mess Hall_ **

"What did you guys get for problem twelve?" Emilia asked.

Emilia, Hamid, and Morgan were huddled in a semi-circle along one of the canteen's exterior dining tables. A tall umbrella was mounted in the center of the table to provide shade, and it was still relatively early in the morning, so it wasn't _too_ hot outside. The three young XCOM members had their pencils in hand, homework splayed across the table. Emilia was hunched over, starting intensely at her paper while running a hand back and forth over her head.

"Two thousand, three hundred and six-point eight," Hamid replied.

" _Merde..._ " Emilia grumbled and began to erase her work.

"Wait," Morgan said. "Let him take a look so he can see where you went wrong. He's better at this than both of us combined."

"Fine," Emilia sighed tiredly, passing over her paper to Hamid. "I always hated math."

"I don't understand why people hate math," Hamid said, beginning to look over her handiwork. "All you have to do is follow the formulas. You literally cannot be wrong if you know the formulas and do them correctly."

"Easy for you to say, you're good at it," she grumbled. "Besides, doesn't this seem kind of pointless? We're _soldiers_. Well, kind of. Why are we practicing Algebra?"

Hamid put her paper down and glared at her, throughly unamused. "Were you not saying just a day ago that you were incredibly bored and had nothing to do?"

" _Ughhh._ " Emilia groaned exasperatedly and flopped her upper half onto the table.

"Don't you use logic on me," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the table. "That's cheating."

"It's better than nothing, right?" Morgan said, trying to stay positive. She didn't struggle with math as much as Emilia did, but she wasn't a huge fan of it. Still, she trusted Ms. Emily, and understood that she had good reasons for taking the time to teach them.

...even if it was useless math. Hopefully they could so something a little more interesting soon.

"Let's change the subject," Emilia said, pushing herself back upright. "Where's your sister, anyway?"

"I don't know," Morgan frowned. "I haven't gotten to do anything with her in a while. She's been keeping herself really busy."

"She's been training one-on-one with the Lieutenant a lot," Emilia nodded in sympathy. "I guess it's safe to assume she's doing that again."

"I hope she's not pushing herself too hard," Morgan said, her voice holding more sadness than the others were used to. She had gotten better at containing herself, but Emilia and Hamid had to suppress a grimace as a small wave of worry and concern passed through them.

"She's fine," Emilia assured her, rubbing Morgan's shoulder gently. "I don't know her as well as you do, obviously, but I'm sure she knows her limits."

"Yeah," Morgan nodded, returning to normal. "You're right. Sorry about that."

Hamid couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. So she _was_ aware of it...

"She probably did her homework already," Hamid shrugged. "Anyway, let's get back to work. We don't have all day."

Emilia nodded, but Morgan seemed distracted.

"Hmm..." Morgan said, placing her finger under lip and seeming to remember something.

Homework.

 _Home_ work. She would have to remember to ask her sister about that, later. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts away.

"Right. Let's get this stupid math done!"

* * *

_**Tehran, Iran - Winter's Fangs base** _

"Mr. White?"

Damien, operating under the guise of 'Adrian White', looked up from his spot on the couch to see a young Iranian man looking at him curiously.

"Our leaders are ready to meet with you now."

As it turned out, the Fangs' hideout was just a large house in one of the poorer sections of Tehran. He didn't know the full structure of the organization yet, but Damien could tell that it was smaller-scale, unlikely to have more than a few dozen members. The fact that their base was literally a basement was also a bit of a giveaway. Regardless, Damien was impressed that XCOM managed to find the group so quickly, since they had obviously only gotten started recently.

Good thing, too, as it appeared these guys were mostly amateurs. They were mostly young men from around the poorer districts, with a few older adults apparently serving as the leaders. By bringing them under the wing of XCOM so early, they would be much better off, learning the ways in which ADVENT could _actually_ be hurt while minimizing risk.

_Well, I should probably hold off on those judgments until I know more about their level of organization._

Their security protocol was good, at least. To enter the base, you waited in a van or car, which drove into the garage of the house. The garage door closed before anyone left the vehicle - that was good. It meant they understood the need to avoid surveillance, at least. No chance for anyone to see your face.

"Thanks," Damien offered, following the young man down the staircase leading to the basement. There was no door, and he stepped into a large, square-shaped room. Taking up the center of the room was a collapsible, circular table, with several men sitting in chairs around it. They were obviously all locals, with a mix of sharp looking younger members and wizened elders with thick beards. Damien noticed Amir, his contact from Arzen Outpost, sitting at the table, as well.

Amir noticed his arrival and stood up, clearing his throat and spreading his arms.

"My friends, this is the man I told you about. Adrian White, member of XCOM!" Amir walked over, extending a hand. Damien took it and shook firmly. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. White. Thank you for coming so punctually."

Damien took a minute to greet all of the other men assembled, shaking their hands and offering greetings in turn. Oddly, it was the older members that appeared more amicable to him, while the younger members clearly held some distrust and hesitation. However, none of them were overly hostile or unfriendly, and each returned his greeting.

_Kind of backwards from what I'd normally expect..._

With that out of the way, Damien sat down at the circular table, facing the Fangs' leaders. Amir took a spot at the side, sitting in between.

"Well, gentlemen, I imagine you have a lot of questions for me," Damien began. "Let me start by saying I like to do things directly, so please don't hesitate to speak your minds and ask honestly. In return, I will do the same. We have a lot to discuss, but how about we start with you telling me what _you_ understand of XCOM?"

"You're a group that unifies independent resistance groups like ours," a young man said hastily.

An older member coughed and leaned forward. "One that, as I understand it, took up the name of the secret organization that fought the aliens when they first arrived?"

"Close," Damien nodded. "But we didn't take up their name. We _are_ that organization."

The leaders murmured their surprise in hushed tones, but some of them had clearly already considered the possibility.

"Doesn't that mean you failed the first time?" A man asked, crossing his arms. "Why should we work with the group that failed to stop the aliens in the first place?"

One of the elders gave the man a disapproving look. "Arman, you-"

Damien held up a hand to silence him. "No, it's a fair question." He turned to look directly at Arman. "It's true, XCOM failed to stop the aliens. I was not part of the original XCOM, but I don't think anybody can really fault them for that. The original group had less than a thousand people, and not even a month to prepare from when the whole project was activated. They did well, given their exceptionally limited resources, but never had a chance of stopping the invasion."

Arman blinked, his widened eyes an indication that he must not have expected such a clear answer.

"Ultimately, it's not about what XCOM did or didn't do seventeen years ago," Damien continued. "But what it can do _now_."

"And what _can_ XCOM do now?" asked another man.

"Nobody can stand up to ADVENT directly," Damien nodded. "Not now. XCOM focuses on harassing the aliens as much as possible. Hitting their supply lines, spreading anti-alien sentiment, encouraging and recruiting defectors, uniting independent groups into the greater fold. At the moment, we're focused on reverse-engineering their technology, turning it against them."

The room was quite for a moment as Damien let his words sink in. He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms.

"Out of curiosity, how many of you know what ADVENT look like under their helmets?"

The leaders looked at each other blankly.

_Nobody, apparently. Good, that'll be useful._

He gestured at Amir, who was already pulling out a photograph. Amir placed it on the table in front of the Fangs. It was the picture of an officer's corpse, helmet removed. The bug-eyed abomination had apparently been dead for quite some time, judging by the rigidness and discoloration of the body.

The Fangs' reaction varied from surprise to revulsion. Some swore under their breath, looking at each other with a fierce resolve. Damien let them stew for a while.

"They're all like that," Damien said eventually. "The 'human ADVENT' you see on TV and in the papers are just actors. All the grunts and officers are these... _abominations_." Damien made sure to put some steel and venom into the last word. They needed to know that XCOM hated the things, too.

One of the elders sighed deeply. "We were never truly opposed to joining your group, but to think that this was hidden in plain sight..." He shook his head. "Perhaps we should move on to more specifics. If we join you, what would be expected of us, and what should we expect from you?"

_They took my opening statement to heart? Well, I certainly appreciate that._

"What we ask of a cell varies on its size, members, and overall capabilities," Damien said. "But the only things that we demand universally are the spirit of cooperation, and that you share information with us. For the most part, you'll operate independently, to negate the risk of compromising other cells. You'll be given a general motive - gather supplies, spy on a target, recruit more members, etcetera. How you accomplish that is generally left up to you, but we do have guidelines that you'll need to follow. If necessary, we can attach experts and veterans here to advise and train your members."

"In return, you gain access to our information network on a need-to-know basis, as well as supplies you might need to expand your operations. You won't be completely autonomous, but you won't be our puppet, either."

"I admit," said Arman, who had grown subdued and quiet, "I did not expect our meeting to go this way."

Damien smiled. "I'd love to hear on what you _did_ expect some other time. But for now, how about you tell me the specifics on what the Winter's Fangs do? I'd like to get the most accurate picture possible to best evaluate your strengths and skills..."

* * *

_**Skyranger, en route to a location in the wilderness south of Sennar, Sudan** _

"Abdul, you're sure we can trust these guys, right?" Surge asked.

Abdul looked towards her and chuckled. "Yes, my friend. This is part of the group I deserted the Sudanese Army with! I know their leader well, he is a reasonable man. He should be amicable to our cause."

"I guess that's good enough for me," Bastoli shrugged. "Abdul tends to be a pretty good judge of character."

Shayu, the final occupant of the Skyranger, said nothing, but nodded in agreement.

" _Two minutes out_ ," their pilot's voice crackled through the intercom. " _Weather conditions are calm. Prepare for landing. I'll set us down in a field well away from their airstrip._ "

"Roger that, Firebrand," Surge replied through her earpiece, signaling her squad to prepare. If this went smoothly, they wouldn't even need their guns.

_But it's always better to have 'em and not need 'em._

Apparently, XCOM had become aware of an opportunity to potentially establish a black-market trading partner. Hammer squad's mission was to make contact with the group of former soldiers and discuss possible arrangements. Something like this would normally call for a diplomat or intelligence operative, but XCOM had a policy of always sending in an armed squad first when it came to groups like these.

It was too risky to send in single intelligence operatives or diplomats for the first meeting, anyway.

Surge took a glance at the well-secured crate strapped into one of the seats. Apparently, it held two vials of elerium. They weren't expected to make a deal right away, but Command would be listening in, and they would authorize a trade if they felt it was worth it. She imagined it would have to be a pretty goddamn good deal, if they were going to trade away _elerium._

A light in the Skyranger turned green, and she felt the craft begin to descend. Surge stood up, signaling her squad to do the same, and quickly checked her gear one last time.

* * *

The militia's base was a previously abandoned military airstrip at the foot of the hills. The surrounding area was filled with tall, green grass poking out of a reddish-brown dirt, with a few trees scattered around. This far south in Sudan was more of a jungle, and the area was relatively cool, with little to no wind. It was early in the afternoon, with the sun beaming through some light cloud cover.

In other words, the weather was a nice change of pace from the dull, dry heat of the Sinkhole.

There wasn't much to say about the militia's base. It was incredibly standard: chain link fence, two or three aircraft hangars, a watch tower, and a scattering of other buildings. From what she could see, they had a couple of propeller planes, jeeps, army trucks, and the like. A place like this probably could sustain at least a hundred people. When Abdul left, there were only thirty, but that was admittedly a while ago, and they could have increased their numbers since then.

The Hammers approached slowly, weapons holstered. There were two armed guards in front of the entrance gate, each wearing a green camouflage uniform and a black beret, with an AK-47 slung across their backs. The guards clearly saw them, but had yet to give some kind of recognition of that.

"Is this normal, Ibex?" Surge asked, switching to Abdul's nickname. "Do they normally ignore their visitors until they reach the gate?"

"No," Ibex said. "This is different. Not that we ever had many visitors, but you think they would at least wave to acknowledge us."

"Be on your guard," Shayu said calmly. "This is suspicious."

"They're entitled to a little paranoia, I guess," Surge reasoned. "Maybe our reputation proceeds us?"

"And what reputation is that?" Bastoli snorted.

Surge rolled her eyes. "Not the time to be a smartass. Keep moving, people."

It took them a little over a minute to walk to the gate, a simple chainlink that was controlled via a switch in an adjacent guard post. There were concrete barriers in front of the fence on either side, presumably to discourage a bold driver from trying to crash a car through the fence. When the Hammers were only a few feet away from the guards, they finally acknowledged the squad's existence, holding up a hand and ordering them to stop.

Ibex stepped forward and began to converse with the guards in Arabic. Or at least the local dialect of it, anyway, it sounded a bit different to the Arabic up in Egypt.

Up close, the two guards at the entrance seemed...unfriendly, to put it gently. The guard that was conversing with Ibex answered in short, gruff bursts, while the other guard maintained an uncomfortably intense stare on Surge.

Ibex was a naturally friendly and likable man, but it seemed to be doing little to the guard. Their conversation seemed to take a turn for the worse, judging by Ibex's tightening facial expression. His eyes were concealed behind his Aviators, but Surge could tell he wasn't happy. Eventually, Ibex took a step back, and turned to Surge.

"They won't be letting us in," he explained, his voice cold. "Apparently, their leader is coming out to see us here at the gate."

"Well, that should be good. You know the man, yeah?" Surge said.

Ibex said nothing.

_Now that's a warning sign if I ever saw one._

Surge took the opportunity to rotate side to side, scanning the area. There were other militia members present inside the base, but they all seemed occupied with various tasks. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention.

_Just what the hell is going on here? Surely the Skyranger should have drawn some curious glances, if nothing else!_

They didn't have to wait very long, which was a good thing, because Surge didn't want Bastoli to exacerbate the situation with some sarcastic quip. The tension radiating from the two guards was powerful, and Surge scanned the area again as a man walked towards them from the direction of one of the hangars. He was dressed like the other militia members, but had a red beret with a star on it.

Ibex drew in a quick breath, something having apparently caught his interest. The chainlink gate wheeled open, and the man stepped forward, stopping about five feet from Ibex. He crossed his arms, and donned a cruel smirk on his face. Surge took a step forward, giving a half-wave and beginning to speak, but he paid her no attention. His eyes bore into Ibex, who met his unspoken challenge.

Eventually, the man uttered something to Ibex, slowly and deliberately.

And then, his hand darted to the pistol holstered at his side.

Ibex was faster, unholstering his sidearm and firing directly into the man's face before even the guards at the side could raise their rifles. His skull erupted in a spray of blood, and he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap. The other Hammers wasted no time following up on the sudden violence, drawing their own weapons. Ibex executed the guard on the left, while Shayu proved herself a quickdraw as well, shooting the guard on the right with her own pistol.

"Take cover!" Surge shouted, and the squad dashed forward to use the gate's concrete barriers and guard post as cover. The militia men inside the compound shouted and scrambled, dashing for cover of their own. If this was an ambush, it was an incredibly poor one, as many of them didn't seem to even have a weapon.

"Thin their numbers!" Surge commanded, unclipping a smoke grenade from her belt.

The Skyranger wasn't that far away, only fifty feet or so, but there was a _lot_ of completely open ground to cross. To their credit, the other Hammers seemed completely unconcerned, focusing on taking advantage of the chaos. Ibex and Shayu loosed accurate bursts at two men sprinting for cover behind a stack of crates, and they collapsed before reaching their destination.

They had to get out of here as soon as possible. They hadn't come expecting a firefight against thirty plus people, and they needed to leave before the militia could organize. Surge pulled the cord on the smoke grenade and lobbed it just in front of the concrete barrier, on the militia's side.

"Popping smoke! Suppress them, and then we run for it!"

"Got it!" Bastoli replied, ducking back into cover against the concrete barrier to reload his assault rifle. Shayu and Ibex popped back out, firing at the half-dozen men who were clearly armed. Two of them were hit, jerking back onto the ground, and the other four dashed behind a cargo container.

The smoke cloud beneath them was growing rapidly, and would be ready soon. Surge tapped her earpiece.

"Firebrand, we are taking fire and need emergency evac! Sprinting back to you now, be ready to lift off immediately!"

" _Understood!_ "

Surge waved at her comrades and pointed at the Skyranger. "Time to go! Serpentine patterns, let's move!"

Surge took off running as fast as she could, hunching over slightly and keeping her head down to minimize her profile. She wobbled to the left and right instead of running in a straight line, to further reduce the chances of being hit by any stray bullets. The smoke grenade had left a big cloud obscuring their vision, but they could still shoot blindly at them.

She heard something whiz past her head at high speed.

 _Yep, definitely shooting blindly_.

Surge didn't bother turning around to check on her squadmates, as it would slow her down. She trusted that they all knew what to do, and kept running.

A horrendously sharp pain slammed into her back, and Surge grunted in pain. The bullet obviously was resisted by her vest, or else she doubted she would still be standing, let alone continuing to run.

They were nearly at the Skyranger now, and the smoke cloud was beginning to thin.

_Come on, come on, almost there!_

Surge stormed forward, closing the remaining distance and leaping up the entire height of the Skyranger's ramp. She ran down as far as she could go, finally turning around to check on her squadmates. Shayu was right behind her, coming up next to her. Bastoli and Ibex were only seconds behind, but Surge saw that the smoke had fully dissipated, and Surge could see at least a dozen soldiers moving up to the entrance gate to fire at them.

Bastoli jumped onto the ramp in a similar fashion to Surge. Ibex repeated the maneuver, but didn't get enough height, and landed awkwardly. Seeing that he was beginning to lose his balance, Surge dashed forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. He grunted in pain and she heard a bullet slam into his armor, several more pinging off the hull of the aircraft.

Seeing that they had all made it back into the Skyranger, Firebrand began to close the ramp without command, the aircraft lifting off.

Surge gently guided Ibex into one of the seats, and stepped back to appraise each of her squadmates.

"Everyone alright?" She asked.

Ibex shook his head, holding out his left arm, his sleeve beginning to soak with blood.

"Vest took a couple hits," he groaned. "But they definitely got my arm."

Surge's eyes darted to the others. "You two alright?"

Shayu nodded, Bastoli unclipping his medical equipment from the satchel at his side. She took that as a sign that he was fine.

"Get on him," Surge ordered unnecessarily. Bastoli said nothing, not even bothering to acknowledge the order.

The only time you could be _completely_ certain that Bastoli wouldn't make a sarcastic remark or joke was when he felt someone's life was in potentially serious danger.

Bastoli cut away Ibex's sleeve with his knife, and held up some kind of blue spray bottle to the wound. A blue mist emerged from the nozzle, spraying across his wound. Ibex grunted and grit his teeth, looking off to the side. The mist quickly formed into a rapidly hardening foam, forming a kind of mold around the wound.

That would do for now. He'd need proper medical treatment once they returned to base, but the medkit would keep him alive.

Surge had a _lot_ of questions for Ibex, but she was patient enough to at least wait for the painkillers to kick in.

* * *

"Can you explain what the fuck happened back there, now?" Surge demanded.

"I can make a guess," Ibex hissed, wincing in pain.

"I'm going to assume that that wasn't your former commander," Shayu said. "Judging from your reaction upon seeing him."

"Right," Ibex nodded. "That was Captain Kamal...that's what he was in the army, anyway. An irrational, pathetic _excuse_ of a soldier. He was overly emotional and prone to starting fights, but our CO kept him in check."

"And he was wearing _his_ beret," Ibex said in disgust. "That can only mean he killed him and took over."

"But why did he try and _kill us_?" Surge pressed.

"Kill me," Ibex corrected. "He had a deep grudge against me. I am not certain, but I assume he must have not known I was coming. Once he realized it was me, he seem surprised, too. And once he knew it was me, he reached for his weapon."

"Just like that?" Surge said incredulously. "Completely forgetting our trade deal, just to settle a grudge?"

"He was a miserable excuse of a man, less so a soldier," Ibex spat. "I am glad that he is dead."

Surge sat down and shook her head, finding such incredible stupidity and arrogance difficult to even comprehend.

...Surge had _never_ seen Abdul express hatred before. He was always so positive, retaining a part of that even in combat. For him to act like this...there must have been some _seriously_ bad blood in his old unit.

"It is possible that the mutiny occurred between the arranging of the deal and our arrival," Shayu remarked. "For all we know, it could have been set up under Abdul's original commander weeks ago, and then he was killed and replaced sometime after that."

Surge sighed deeply and leaned back into her seat. Intelligence was going to have a field day with this one. She wouldn't be surprised if they would be revisiting that outpost soon.

_At least we all made it out._

Surge regretted even thinking the words. They had been unusually lucky lately, and their good fortune was going to break sooner or later.

* * *

A/N: Unfortunately, midterms forced me to break my brief streak of weekly releases. However, I am currently on spring break, so you can expect another chapter or two in quick succession to this one.

I don't have too much to say, this time. I'd like to hear everyone's thoughts on how well I handled that noir bit, I thought I did alright, and it was a pretty fun experiment.

Until next time!

* * *

You all know the copy-paste by now. It's on the reddit thread. I believe I'll stop including this segment in future chapters.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**_The Sinkhole, Intelligence Director's Office_ **

"Really? This soon?" Karim leisurely paced back and forth, alone in his office. His hands were clasped behind his back, and and an earpiece was attached to the left side of his head.

"I see. Well, I trust your skills, Agent. If you are certain you can pull it off today, you have my authorization."

He paused, wearing a very pleased smile.

"Indeed. Good luck, Agent. I expect to see you again soon."

_What spectacular news! I'm quite impressed she managed to work so quickly...this is far earlier than I had expected._

A knock at the door drew his attention, and he took off his earpiece, turning it off and setting it on his desk.

"Come in."

Central Officer Bradford let himself in, shutting the door behind him. He looked...haggard. There were dark circles under his eyes, his facial hair was unkempt, and he looked quite weary.

"Good evening, John. I take it you'd like to discuss our plan in regards to the militia base?"

He nodded. "I just finished debriefing our squad. You've read their report?"

"Of course. I believe that Corporal Afar's assessment is likely correct. A change in leadership that is unfriendly to outsiders is a probable explanation, especially given that my source has gone silent."

Bradford's eyes widened in surprise. "You think they found your agent?"

"It is too early to know for sure. It is equally as likely that he slipped away, and is simply waiting for a safe opportunity to reestablish contact. Either way, our plans for the rogue militia remain the same. They have made it clear they are no friend of ours."

Bradford folded his arms. "Do you think it would even be worth retaliating? There's at least twenty left, and they'll be expecting an attack."

"That's the question, isn't it?" Karim nodded in agreement. "Securing a stockpile of arms and vehicles would certainly be useful, _if_ we knew the extent of their cache. With that in mind, I can see three possible options moving forward."

"Go on."

"First, we do nothing. Admittedly, this is not an unappealing option. There is little that their group can do to harm us, other than neutralizing my agent, which may or may not have happened already."

Bradford frowned. "If your man has been captured, they might interrogate him. It could compromise us."

Karim dismissed the notion with a wave. "Agents know only what they need to know. He does not know the location of our headquarters, along with many other things. If he is lost, it is unfortunate, but hardly a major setback."

He cleared his throat and continued. "Second, we send a force to conquer their base. This is a gamble - I find it unlikely that we would secure the facility without casualties, and we do not know if it would even be worth it. One thing to consider would be the possibility of rescuing our agent, who may or may not even be there. If we receive an all-clear signal from him soon, I must admit, I am uncertain if attacking their base would be a worthwhile endeavor. And yes, I already have plans to set up a surveillance of their outpost, though if they have any intelligent leadership whatsoever, they'll take care to hide their supplies."

Bradford nodded, satisfied. "Noted. I guess we should wait and see, for the time being. What was your third option?"

Karim straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back again.

"We leak the location of their base to ADVENT," he said calmly.

"What?" Bradford hissed. "How would that help us? At all?"

"It wouldn't," Karim admitted. "But it would remove a potential threat. I don't believe they warrant such a response at the moment, however. We need to know more about their capabilities."

"Wait and see it is," Bradford sighed. "Hopefully your agent's alright. Major setback or not, they're hard to replace."

"I believe we should update our Israeli cell's directive," Karim said, sitting down at his desk and turning his attention to his computer. "Before the dissolution of their government, Israel had a wealth of incredibly skilled intelligence agents from Mossad and Kidon. I'm certain that many of them would jump at the chance to join us."

"Some of them would probably even find our recruiter first," Bradford commented. "I think it's a good idea. But are you sure it would be worth it? A lot of our production comes from there, it would delay the rollout of our new medkits."

"Unfortunate, but I believe we'll manage to do without. The Sinkhole is well equipped with them, that will have to do for the time being."

"Alright then."

Karim looked up from his desk. "Was there something else, John? You seem...distracted."

Bradford grimaced and looked to the side.

_Not trying to hide it, then._

"Just been...plagued with uncomfortable thoughts, I guess," Bradford sighed.

Karim raised an eyebrow. "Survivor's guilt, again?"

"That's a good chunk of it..."

"I hoped you would be over this by now," Karim sighed. "Listen, John, we've talked about this. I can only repeat what I've told you before: you have no worthwhile reason to feel guilty."

Privately, Karim wondered if the fact that both himself and Bradford were away from the base at the time of the attack was truly a coincidence. It was completely illogical, of course. If Robin somehow knew about the attack in advance, he surely would have evacuated the base, or put one of the contingencies into effect. He _certainly_ wouldn't have brought his daughters to a location he was expecting to be attacked.

The Commander was not an omniscient being, but Karim couldn't help but wonder, sometimes.

"I'm not sure what else I can tell you than that," Karim said. "Although, I would recommend you discuss this with Captain Marai before she leaves for Unity Hills."

"And the Retter sisters, as well," he added, noticing Bradford's jaw subtly clench at that.

"Forgive me if I'm coming across as unsympathetic," Karim said neutrally. "But you are a valuable member of XCOM, and you need to be focusing at your best. I doubt turning to the bourbon you keep in your desk is going to help with that."

"How do you even _know_ about that?" Bradford groaned slapping his palm into his face and beginning to massage the bridge of his nose.

The corners of Karim's lips twitched up.

"Nevermind," Bradford sighed. "Forgot who I was talking to. You're right, of course, Karim. I'll sort this out."

Karim was content with that. Bradford really had nothing to fear but himself, in this situation. It was stubborn and illogical, of course, but guilt usually was. Talking his issues through with Captain Marai and the Retter girls should help greatly.

"That's all I needed to hear, Central. Getting back to business, there are a few things that I'm monitoring. My agents are keeping a close eye on the ADVENT supply depots in the region, although there has been no activity as of yet. I suspect that they will have to move sooner, rather than later, however. Despite the inexplicable lack of defenses for their rail bridge, I do not believe it was abandoned. Whatever facility it leads to will need to be resupplied eventually."

"Noted," Bradford said, having regained his composure. "What else?"

"I've assigned our analysts to the anonymous intel that we received, but as it was a physical packet of information, there is little we can do. I'm not sure if that's better or worse, truth be told. It means that our anonymous ally knows where our base is, or at the least people who _do._ He may or may not have some sort of access to our communications and digital assets. We're scanning for leaks, and re-evaluating our security protocol, but no obvious flaws have come up yet."

Karim sighed. "It's not like we can exactly have someone come and audit our security systems."

"Whoever our friend is, they're a potential liability," Bradford said. "They obviously want to help us, but the fact that they know about us and we don't know about _them_ , is a problem. If ADVENT catches them, and they talk..."

"A troubling possibility," Karim agreed. "All the more reason to finish the Avenger as soon as possible. Which ties in to my final point, actually."

"What's that?"

"We may have our computer specialist soon," Karim said, his smile curling into a grin.

* * *

_**The Sinkhole, Medical Ward** _

The medical wing was located on the surface, right next to the landing pads. The wing's interior was akin to that of any hospital - white, plaster walls, sterile surfaces, with the faint smell of recycled air. The wing was kept cool, but not uncomfortably so, and Shayu appreciated the welcome drop in temperature as she shut the entrance doors behind her. A nurse behind a desk took note of her arrival, nodding and waving her over.

As far as Shayu was aware, the medical wing only had one patient at the moment, so the nurse didn't exactly have to guess why she had arrived. The nurse beckoned for Shayu to follow her, and led her down a relatively empty corridor. She stopped after only a few seconds, pointing at the first patient room on the right. Shayu thanked her, and entered the room.

Abdul was reclining at an angle in the medical bed, an IV drip attached to his arm. His vital signs were displayed by the monitor that held the IV drip. Shayu was not a doctor, but they seemed normal. Abdul himself seemed relatively fine, as well, save for a large bandage wrapped snugly around his arm.

"Shayu, my friend," Abdul grinned. "You surprise me! I did not expect a visitor so soon."

Shayu gave a light smile and took up a place against the wall, leaning against it and crossing her arms.

"You're in good spirits, for a man who took a bullet not five hours ago," she said mirthfully.

He pursed his lips and waved her away with his good arm. "It will take more than a bullet or two to dampen my spirits, my friend. I have faced worse, and come out better."

"I'm sure you have," she said honestly, without a trace of sarcasm. "What have they said about your injury?"

He tilted his good arm and lifted his palm upwards in a half-shrug. "Yet to be determined. It missed the bone, thankfully. They already removed the bullet and cleaned the wound. I don't think I will be here for too long."

"That's good to hear."

Abdul looked off to the side. "This isn't the first time I've been shot, my friend. I must thank the scientists who created the spray that Niccolo used. It was very effective."

Shayu was mildly surprised with how casual Abdul was being about this. Shayu had never been on the receiving end of a bullet, herself, but she was truly impressed with his apparently enormous pain tolerance. That, or he was a very good actor.

There was a knock at the door, and a woman in a labcoat let herself in.

"Shall I leave?" Shayu asked preemptively.

"Oh, no no," the doctor said, shaking her head. "It's quite alright."

She turned her attention to her patient. "Good news, Mr. Afar. We've got your results back, and its safe to say that you should make a full recovery without any major issues. With a bit of cellular regeneration therapy, I estimate you'll be cleared for action within a week."

Abdul laughed once, and then winced at the pain the movement brought. Still, he forced himself to smile through it.

"I expected no less from our esteemed medical team," he said. "Thank you for doing such a fine job, doctor."

"You are quite welcome," the doctor blinked, taken aback. "You need to spend the night here, but you should be cleared within a day or two. We'll need to take a further look at your X-rays, however, to ensure that none of your ribs were damaged."

"Unlikely that they would be," Shayu commented. "We were wearing the composite undervests that ADVENT's officers wear."

"True," the doctor conceded, surprisingly not bothered by Shayu's interjection. "But the bruising from the impacts warrants further investigation. I'll leave you two be, now." The woman gave a quick bow and left the room.

"You shouldn't tell the doctors how to do their jobs, my friend," Abdul said with a low chuckle.

"I was just making an observation."

"True, but not everyone here is as familiar with you as we are."

She saw his point, but didn't really think she was being obstructive. The doctor didn't seem threatened.

"As you say," she said, dropping the point. "There is something else I wished to ask you."

"Ask away, my friend."

She maintained silent eye contact for a few seconds before voicing her question.

"What did Captain Kamal say to you?"

Abdul's positivity vanished in an instant, his expression suddenly becoming neutral.

"A personal insult. It is difficult to translate. Something along the lines of 'You should not have come back here, you filthy dog'."

"What did you do to create such a grudge that 'Captain Kamal' would try to shoot you, without any regard for the consequences to him or his men?" Shayu asked. "He clearly wasn't planning on killing us until he recognized you."

After a while, Abdul spoke in a quiet tone. "I had him arrested by the military police. Back when the Sudanese Army still existed, anyway."

Shayu tilted her head, interested. "What did he do?"

Abdul pursed his lips. "I'll spare you the full story, as it is not very interesting. Ultimately, we were stationed in a small town, and he got in a drunken fight while off-duty. This was not unusual. He was a disgrace of a soldier. This time, however, he killed someone in his brawl. I myself did not witness this fight, although his 'friend' did, who reported it to me. We discussed it, and he agreed to serve as a witness if I reported him. So I did."

Abdul sighed, shaking his head as a trace of venom dripped into his words. "He was taken to court, but was ultimately found innocent."

"Why?"

"Corruption in the courts. I assume he must have known or bribed someone. The fact that the witness suddenly decided he was no longer interested in giving a statement did not help. He was likely also bribed, or perhaps threatened. Ultimately, a lack of evidence was cited, and Kamal was released."

"It must have been vindicating to kill him," Shayu remarked.

"The fool killed himself," Abdul spat. "Despite everything, I would have been willing to overlook his crimes, if he was willing to contribute to a greater good."

"Admirable," Shayu said. "I'm not sure I could have done the same."

Abdul chuckled at that, earning him a curious look.

"You would have done the same, my friend," he explained, still chuckling. "Of that, I am certain."

"And why are you certain?"

"Consider it this way," he said. "Would you risk everything we have fought for? Everything _XCOM_ has fought for, just to settle an old grudge? If the answer is yes, then you are no better than Kamal. You are very critical of yourself, my friend, but I _know_ you are a better person than Kamal."

"Debatable," Shayu countered immediately. "That would just mean that I am rational, capable of foreseeing consequences. It would not make me a good person, nor would it excuse past misdeeds."

Abdul simply smiled at her. "I do not know what acts you have committed in the past, my friend, but I doubt any of them matter now."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Shayu quickly glanced over at Abdul.

"Perhaps we can continue this another time. Recover soon, Abdul."

"I will try my hardest, my friend!" He laughed.

The door opened as Shayu turned to leave. It was not a doctor, this time, but Morgan Retter. The young redhead looked surprised to see Shayu there, and gave Abdul an uncertain glance, who grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

Shayu reached over and patted her on the head twice.

"Take good care of him," she said, exiting the room and leaving the laughing Abdul with a very confused Morgan.

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Central's Office_ **

Bradford looked up as a knock sounded from his door.

_That was fast..._

"Come in."

Captain Marai strode in, looking very professional.

"Needed to see me, Central?"

He nodded. "Take a seat, Ashley. This is...uh, a personal matter, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow, but complied. She was silent, patiently waiting for him to explain what he wanted to talk about. He silently cursed to himself as he realized he was going to have to take the initiative.

"I'm..." Bradford sighed, interrupting himself. "I'm not great with words, Ashley, so I'll just be direct."

"That's usually the best policy," she nodded.

"When your squad was deployed on its final mission of the original XCOM...what exactly happened after that?"

She seemed surprised, but not overly so. "We received a warning while we were still in flight. Never even touched down at the mission site. The pilot rerouted to our airstrip in Germany. We were there for a couple days, deciding what to do. Probably not the smartest move, looking back. We shouldn't have stayed as long as we did."

She shrugged. "But we needed confirmation. And hell, did we get it. We saw the announcements on TV. The signing of the accords, the dissolution of the United Nations...it was, uh, hard to accept. Felt like we were in a bad dream."

Bradford nodded. "I can relate. What did you do after that? There were ten of you, correct?"

"Right. More if you include the two dozen or so staff and pilots of the airstrip. Some of them just...wandered off. Who could blame them? It was over, there was no one left to punish them for desertion. We certainly couldn't stay at the airstrip, because if they took the HQ, they would obviously know where our other bases were. So my squad and some of the base staff left."

She looked at him curiously. "You really didn't know this already?"

"I knew up to this point," Bradford said with a shake of his head. "I never learned where it was you went after that, what you did."

She shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you're aware that the intelligence director happened to be in Germany at the time. He knew we had been deployed, and he knew that the HQ had fallen. Don't know how, but he managed to contact us within a week."

She pursed her lips. "We probably would have been dead without him. We could hide and fight, sure, but we needed supplies. Money, food, _jobs_ , ID cards...he managed to get that. Never really asked how. Didn't really care, either. I'd guess he had some friends in the German government. Or at the very least, people that weren't willing to cooperate with aliens. We stayed in some abandoned ski lodge in the Alps while we planned what to do. Well, I say _we_. It was mostly the Director."

"When did you move from Germany to Egypt?"

"After about a year, the Director got some kind of message. Apparently, it was some kind of pre-recorded message from the Council, left as a contingency in the event of XCOM's collapse. That's what directed us to Egypt, the Sinkhole, and the Avenger."

Right...the Sinkhole was an XCOM base, but it hadn't started out that way. It was a backup plan designed by the Council, intended to serve as a secondary base if the war went on long enough. Funny that they had never bothered to tell XCOM about that, although their secrecy turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

Karim had shown Bradford the message. It was definitely from the Council's Speaker. Blurry, dark background, synthesized voice, same dramatic pauses. It revealed the existence of the Sinkhole, and advised that they use it as a base to stage the resistance against humanity's new overlords.

And it was revealed that the Avenger was being reconstructed there, something that made Karim understandably angry. By rights, the Avenger - or rather, the UFO cargo ship that it was at the time - should have been XCOM's to begin with. It was shot down by XCOM interceptors, after all, many of which did not survive the aerial battle.

But the Egyptian Councilor had claimed sovereignty over the crash site, making a political maneuver within the Council to obtain the resources all for itself, threating to withdraw from the Council and publicly disavow XCOM otherwise. And that was a risk the Commander was willing to take, honestly. Too many resources had been committed to down the UFO, and it held a wealth of resources and information that XCOM desperately needed. The Commander was more than willing to defy the Council and secure the site before the Egyptian Army could roll in.

But the engagement couldn't have come at a worse time. As the Commander was preparing a mission to secure the UFO, the aliens launched a terror attack in the United Kingdom, bombarding the area with their UFO's plasma cannons before sending in their land forces. XCOM had to commit all their forces to helping London repel the attack, and no longer had the time or resources to secure the crash site in Egypt. Ultimately, XCOM managed to exterminate the alien's terror force, but not without significant cost, to both itself and England.

Karim's anger at the withholding of information a year after the fact was nothing in comparison to the Commander's cold _fury_ when learning that Egypt had secured the crashed UFO for themselves.

Pathetic, that's what it was. It was that kind of greed and petty division that had doomed Earth to fall.

Bradford almost felt a twitch of regret that all of the Councilors had been killed by EXALT. At least some of them must have understood the idiocy of what Egypt had done, manipulating things behind the scenes to ensure that the Avenger would ultimately end up in XCOM's hands.

But still.

"-ooo? Central?" Ashley was peering over to look at him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He snapped back, eyes blinking.

"Uh, wow," Ashley muttered. "I think I know what this is about now. I don't think I'm really qualified to help you with this, sir."

"I didn't ask you here to be my shrink," Bradford defended. "But your guess was probably right. I've been...distracted. Keep thinking about what I did wrong and feeling sorry."

Bradford grunted in disgust. "Guess I just wanted to hear your side of what happened. It's a start, I guess."

Ashley shrugged. "Hey, I'm not judging. Our species was enslaved by an alien race, I would think that we're all entitled to a little depression. But I'll talk and listen all you want, if you think it'll help."

Bradford smiled a little. "I appreciate that, Ashley. I really do. But...not now. I need to think about this on my own for a while."

She chuckled. "Suit yourself. You know how to reach me. Although...care to take a piece of advice from someone who knows absolutely nothing about what went on?"

He looked at her strangely. "What's that?"

"Don't delay talking to the Retter girls."

"Is it that obvious?" He sighed.

"Educated guess, sir. I'd be more surprised if you _didn't_ have some issues."

She shook her head and readjusted her posture. "Jesus, I don't think I could _survive_ the stress of being a single parent while living under the boot of ADVENT."

"I wasn't their parent," Bradford said immediately, his voice firm and allowing no dissent.

Ashley looked at him in surprise, and the room was quiet for a minute.

"If you say so," she eventually said. "I wasn't there. But somehow, I doubt that they feel the same way."

"Another educated guess?"

"You could call it that."

* * *

**_Babylon, Bureau for the Advancement of Technology - Parking Garage_ **

Abraham ordered the car's AI to play the voicemail one more time.

"Hi, Abraham," Sara's voice said. "It's Sara. There's...something I need to talk to you about. Something important, ah...something about us."

Her voice sighed. Abraham thought that was strange - combined with her hesitant tone of voice, he had never heard her sound so uncertain.

"And, I like where... _we_ , are going, but if this is going to work, I need to be completely honest with you. Which I haven't been. Come by my place tonight, after six. We...we should really talk about this in person."

And with that, the voicemail ended. It was the third time he had listened to it, having received it just after the end of his work shift fifteen minutes ago. Abraham wasn't sure what to make of it. A part of him wished that she hadn't sent it, the part that would rather remain willfully ignorant.

But he couldn't deny his curiosity, either.

When she invited him over for dinner - and more - yesterday, she had seemed genuinely happy to see him. Maybe that was part of it? Whatever information she'd been withholding must be gnawing at her.

Abraham sighed and input her address into his car's display panel. The automated vehicle accepted the coordinates, and he clicked his seatbelt in as the car began to move.

There was no point speculating about it. He'd just have to wait to hear what she had to say.

* * *

"Come in!" Sara's voice said, responding to Abraham's knock at the door of her apartment.

He complied and opened the door, closing it softly behind him. He was still a little surprised at just how _spartan_ Sara's apartment was. There were almost no decorations or indications of any hobbies. She had the bare minimum of furniture - table, two chairs, a bed - but not much else. No TV, no couch...

_I would have expected a journalist's place to be a lot messier. Or maybe that's just what you see on TV?_

Sara showed up, turning around the corner that led to her bedroom. She looked tired.

"Abraham, thanks for coming," she said, giving a sad smile.

"Of course. What did you need to tell me?"

Her smile faded and she gestured towards the two chairs around her dining table. There was an open laptop placed on the table, facing the kitchen's far wall.

"This is going to take a while. Take a seat?"

He complied and sat down on the side without the laptop. Presumably, she was going to use it to show him something. Sara sat down across from him, her shoulders drooped. She stared at the floor for a minute before straightening her posture, and taking a deep breath.

"Okay," she said confidently. "Before I begin, I need you to promise something."

"What?"

She maintained direct eye contact for a few seconds before answering. She was unusually serious, with a pleading sadness behind her eyes. "Promise that you'll let me get through the whole explanation. What...what I'm going to tell you is going to sound pretty bad, but _I can prove it._ "

_That...that doesn't sound good._

"Alright," Abraham said hesitantly. "I won't interrupt you. Promise."

She smiled and leaned across the table, kissing him gently on the cheek.

"The truth is," she said, "I wanted to get close to you for more than just a relationship. But not for what you think. I don't want to hurt you, I want to _protect you._ "

"Protect me?" Abraham blinked. "From what?"

"I lied, Abraham," she said plainly. "I'm not a journalist. Not really. Nobody would publish the things that I've dug up. I'm..."

She struggled to find the right words.

"A vigilante, I guess," she eventually said. "A muckraker."

That...that made sense, honestly. Abraham was expecting that her revelation tied in to her career, given how she seemed to be carefully restraining her answers during their conversations at the Hanging Gardens.

"Okay," Abraham said, nodding to signal her to continue.

"Abraham, do you remember Zachary Welsh?"

His jaw dropped. He was _not_ expecting that.

"Of course I remember Zach," Abraham said huffily. "He was my best friend! Why are you bringing him up? Why do you even _know_ who he is?"

Zachary was a young American man studying abroad. He and Abraham had interned together at the Babylonian BAT, both studying computer science. When Zach had finished his doctorate, he decided to go back home, and worked for the BAT in New Providence, the megacity for the American East Coast. They were close friends, and had kept in touch for years, even after he left.

"I'll get to that," Sara promised in a neutral tone. "Abraham, when was the last time you spoke with Zachary?"

"I..." Abraham sighed and adjusted himself. "I don't know, a year?"

_Damn. Has it really been that long?_

Admittedly, the frequency of their communication had dwindled over the years. Even in the modern age, with all of its instant communication technology, Zach was still an _ocean_ away.

"The last time I talked to him was this really long phone call he initiated," Abraham sighed. "He was rambling about his bosses, calling them assholes. But you still haven't told me why Zach is important to any of this!"

"You didn't think that was strange?" Sara asked, tilting her head. "That your best friend would just _stop_ talking with you?"

"I...I thought he was just busy," Abraham countered weakly.

_Did I, though? Or was it just an excuse to stop keeping in touch?_

"Abraham, do you know _why_ it's been so long since you two talked?"

_I do not like the sound of this..._

The room was silent. Abraham heard the droning siren of an ambulance, fading away as it passed somewhere near Sara's apartment.

Sara crossed her legs and folded her arms, looking Abraham right in the eyes.

"It's because he's dead, Abraham," she said, voice cold and full of unflinching resolve. "And ADVENT killed him."

...

_Bullshit._

That's what he should have said. He should have stood up dramatically, pointed at her, and called her a liar.

But he didn't. He just...sat there.

He knew it was illogical. She claimed that she had proof, but he hadn't seen it yet.

But...there was something in her eyes that told him that she was probably correct. A kind of...contained fury, one he had never seen her wear before.

"You said you had proof," Abraham croaked, his throat feeling very dry.

"I did, and I do."

She uncrossed her limbs, leaning forward to place a hand on her laptop.

"Do you want to see it?" Sara asked.

Abraham was aware that this decision was a turning point. It didn't matter if he said yes or no - he felt that either way, things were going to change dramatically for him. He didn't have any reason to believe her. Not yet.

But he would.

If he had known the true gravity of his situation, if he had known just how far-reaching the consequences of his answer would be, Abraham would have answered even faster.

"Show me."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**_Babylon, Sara's Apartment_ **

"Alright," Abraham croaked. "You've convinced me."

The truth was worse than he could had ever imagined.

They had talked for hours, not stopping even once. It must have been past midnight, now. Abraham's throat was parched, his eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and his stomach was rumbling.

But all of that was subdued by the truths Sara had revealed to him.

"Zach..." Abraham slumped forward, his voice hoarse and laced with emotion. "They killed him. They really killed him..."

The picture of his friend's corpse left no room for doubt. ADVENT hadn't even tried to frame it as a suicide. They gunned him down, and blamed it on him being caught in the unfortunate crossfire of some drug lab bust. Sara wasn't eager to share exactly how she acquired that information, but did eventually reveal that she had been keeping tabs on him, too. Apparently, Sara was monitoring Zach before she ever turned her attentions to Abraham.

She couldn't save him, but she did acquire proof of his murder. A failing she wanted to improve on, for Abraham.

The reason Zach was murdered was equally horrific. Sara had shown him a shaky video captured from someone's cellphone from the Montreal riot. Abraham didn't even know that there _was_ a Montreal riot, but that was the point. The video recorded the moment when ADVENT started firing on a crowd in front of the city's government building. Lawful and nonviolent, as far as he could tell. Even if it wasn't, which Abraham recognized as a possibility, nothing could have justified what ADVENT did to those protesters.

White Knights - _armed_ White Knights - had opened fire on the crowd with gauss cannons.

Gauss cannons!

That shouldn't even have been _possible!_ Robotic police units were hard coded to _never_ fire on civilians. That was the whole point of their existence! They were durable, but expendable, meant to take risks that human officers couldn't! Using lethal force on crowds of protesters was exactly the _opposite_ of what they were designed to do!

Oh, and now he understood Sara's thinly-veiled disgust from their interview. ADVENT weren't human - she had shown him what they looked like underneath the helmets.

_And to think that these bug-eyed abominations literally parade around in plain sight._

"So let me see if I have this right," Abraham said wearily, pushing himself off Sara's kitchen table. She nodded at him, dark circles under her eyes.

"Zach somehow learned what happened in Montreal. That White Knights fired on the crowd. He brought it to his superiors at the New Providence BAT, stating that some malfunction must have occurred, and urging the need for an immediate code fix. Right?"

"That's right."

_Right. Zach was the project lead for the White Knight, just like me with the drone..._

"But they didn't allow him to fix the code, because it wasn't broken."

"That is also correct," Sara affirmed.

There was no malfunction. ADVENT had just quietly added in the functionality for their 'peacekeepers' to force-target the White Knights, allowing them to bypass their normal programming and attack civilians.

Just like he was doing now with the drone.

"And you don't know what happened after that, but he must have threatened to leak it to the media, or something. So they silenced him."

"Yes," Sara nodded. "I'm sorry, Abraham."

Sara took a hold of her arm and looked away. "I did everything I could. I tried to reach him, tried to warn him, but I was just...I was just..."

"No," Abraham shook his head vigorously. "It's not your fault."

She nodded, but didn't say anything. The room was silent for several minutes.

Abraham took a deep breath through his nose.

"I won't be complicit in this," he said, voice resolute. "I won't help them murder protesters. I won't help them to kill innocent people _._ "

_But how? How can I stop this?_

"Abraham," Sara warned. "They won't let you just leave. They are monitoring you carefully. Even your apartment isn't safe."

He believed her. She had shown him countless evidence to ADVENT's brutality and ruthlessness. Video after video, picture after picture. Massacres, cover-ups, disappearances...they would force him to finish the project at gunpoint, if they felt he was a liability.

Or they would just kill and replace him.

How could he have been so blind?

...

_This..._

_...this is too much!_

Abraham's eyes shot wide. He leaned forward and slammed his elbows onto the table, gripping his hair tightly.

"I-I can't do this!" He stammered, voice cracking. "What the fuck am I going to do?! They're going to kill me!"

Sara stood up and took hold of her chair, moving around the table and placing it next to Abraham. She sat down, leaning over and taking him into her arms.

"Shh," she whispered, cradling him from behind. "It's alright. You're going to be okay."

She held him like that for a while, the only sound in the room that of their breathing. Abraham's heavy, almost hyperventilated breaths eventually slowed, Sara's affectionate nuzzling soothing his panic.

"This time," Sara promised. "I'll save someone. I know a way, Abraham. I know a way to escape ADVENT. You can be safe."

" _We_ can be safe," she corrected.

"How?" He whispered.

She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and told him her plan.

"I only need one day to set it up," Sara said. "But I guarantee it will work."

"Can you really promise that?" Abraham asked tiredly.

Sara scooted her chair backwards, picking it up and repositioning herself to Abraham's side, rather than behind him. He turned around hesitantly to meet her eyes.

"I can," she insisted. "It's not the first time the method had been used, and it has never failed."

"I have work tomorr- uh, today..." he muttered.

"You can handle it, Abraham, I know you can. You only have to pretend for one day, and then we can _leave!_ "

Abraham had wondered if he would leave Babylon one day, but never like this. He might have been sad, but really, what was he leaving?

He had no close friends here, no family, no important possessions. All that really motivated Abraham to keep going everyday was his work.

And now he knew that his work was a lie. He had no reason to stay.

_No, that's not right. It's even worse than a lie. If I stay, I am going to be responsible for the deaths of innocent people. There's just no choice here, I have to go along with Sara's plan._

His sister would miss him, he knew that much. He would have liked to at least left her a goodbye note, but he couldn't connect her to this. She had to stay ignorant of this, to keep her safe.

"Okay," Abraham said. "I'll do it."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Subterranean Training Facility_ **

Arkady glanced down at the young woman laying flat on her back on a medical bed. Selena had a bulky pair of black goggles attached to her head, concealing the top half of her face. Several sensors were attached to the side of her head with a sticky adhesive, white wires connecting to the virtual reality device she wore. A black sleeve attached tightly around her left arm fed information to an attached monitor, which measured her heartbeat.

Virtual reality training was effective, certainly. It was also strikingly more realistic than most soldiers initially expected, Arkady included. Basically, the device induced a temporary state of unconsciousness while tapping into the user's brainpower. It was less of a computer program and more of a state of lucid dreaming.

...sort of. The full science behind it was very complicated, what with it being one of eight models stolen from the former American military. The simulation could be controlled by an observer, and each machine could link with the others, allowing an entire group to share the same 'dream'. And while the technology was perfectly safe, there was a protocol that had to be followed to the letter to ensure that. A member of the medical staff had to be present whenever the machines were use.

_Side effects include headaches, nausea, and brain damage..._

Arkady exhaled sharply at his own joke and turned to survey the room.

The VR training room was located underground. It was just a big square, empty except for eight medical beds, a few chairs, and the observer's control desk, which was lined with displays, switches, and bulky, black computers. Selena occupied the first bed on the left, Arkady standing a few feet away from her. The required member of the medical staff was present, a man wearing a labcoat sitting at the observer's desk.

"Vitals are stable," the doctor said. Arkady had seen him before, but couldn't remember his name. Not that it was important, 'Doctor' was enough for most of them. "We are clear to proceed. This is her first time, correct, Lieutenant Sokolov?"

Arkady nodded.

"She'll get the tutorial, then," the doctor said, typing in some commands to the control computer. "And she should wake up...now."

Arkady stepped over to the observer's desk, standing behind the doctor. He peered down at one of the display panels, which flickered from a purely black screen to a live video of Selena standing in an empty, white room. Arkady pulled up a chair, and the doctor nodded and handed him a headset, so he could communicate with Selena.

* * *

Selena blinked, reflexively curling her fingers back and forth and touching them to her palms. She had to close her eyes, as wherever she was, it was _really_ bright.

"Adjusting brightness," a male voice came from somewhere. And then, somehow, the light dimmed. "There, that should be better. Can you see well, Ms. Retter?"

She opened her eyes.

She was in...a void. That would be the best way to describe it. It may have been light instead of dark, but there was nothing here. Selena was standing on a white-tiled floor, but there was no building. There wasn't _anything_. Selena could see shimmering lines where the walls of the room would have been, faintly pulsing and moving up and down. Beyond them was...nothing. There was no sky, just white light as far as the eye could see.

_What am I supposed to see?_

Oh, wait. She had to audibly communicate with them.

"What am I supposed to see?" She coughed.

There was silence for a brief moment.

And then, with a _pop_ , an orange plant pot holding some kind of green plant materialized into existence, hovering just above the 'floor'. Gravity kicked in, and it gently landed with a thud.

"I see the plant pot," Selena said.

"Very good," said the same male voice. "Selena, my name is Doctor Andrews. I'll be helping you along while you learn how to use the simulator, alright?"

"Okay."

"Very good. First, we're going to run through some things to...make your brain more familiar with the machine. Testing your senses, as it were. We'll start with sight, are you ready?"

Selena nodded.

_Wait, can they even see me?_

The white void around her began to shift. She took that as a yes.

The room around her began to swirl into an indistinguishable mess of color and light. It was very disorienting, and she had to shut her eyes to block out the confusing visual stimulation. When she opened them, she was standing in...a firing range?

"Is this the firing range here at the base?" She asked.

"Yes, Selena," the doctor answered. "Very good. You acclimated very quickly, well done."

Selena silently accepted the praise, not sure what she had done to deserve it.

The doctor swiftly moved on to her other senses. He tested her sense of hearing by 'spawning' in a ticking grandfather clock, her sense of touch by spawning in another plant pot for her to feel, and her sense of smell by spawning a jug of spoiled milk.

_Gross..._

Thankfully, they didn't make her drink it. Apparently the sense of taste was not included in the simulation.

It was...very strange. It was incredibly realistic, but the sensations of touch and smell were...dulled. Slower. There was some kind of uncanny feeling to it all that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Her sense of sight and sound seemed normal, though.

The tutorial was swift, but very thorough. They had Selena run on a treadmill and use a weights machine so she could get used to feeling what moving around and exerting herself was like. After that, she test-fired a few weapons and had used the firing range for a very short target practice session. The whole process lasted about twenty minutes, before the doctor gave her the all clear and stepped aside so Arkady could take his place.

"Time for your first test," he said gruffly, the first time he had spoken since the beginning of the session. "You will treat this test as seriously as possible. Act as if this is really happening, as if your life is really in danger. Do you understand, Private?"

"I understand, Lieutenant."

"Good. Begin simulation UTA 001."

The world melted away, although it wasn't quite as nauseating this time.

* * *

Selena was now standing on the flat roof of a tall building. She blinked and shook her head as she took in her new surrounding.

The building was about ten stories tall, and was located in some unknown cityscape. The architecture was unknown to her, but the city did look relatively modern, and probably American. Looking up at the big blue sky, Selena assumed it was about noon, with a few fluffy clouds being pushed along by a light breeze. There was a stairwell leading down placed in the center of the roof. A flagpole was mounted diagonally on the edge of the building, with a red and white striped flag with tiny stars in the corner flapping in the wind.

Definitely somewhere in America, then.

Selena suddenly noticed that she was clad in full equipment. Grey uniform, Kevlar vest, combat boots...

"There is a table behind you," the Lieutenant's voice said, his words appearing directly in her head. "Arm yourself."

Sure enough, there was a rectangular wooden table behind her, with a variety of equipment and weapons on it. Selena took a minute to fasten a knife, a pistol, and a frag and smoke grenade to her outfit, finishing the loadout by picking up an M4A1 carbine.

"Equip the helmet," the Lieutenant added. A hovering, yellow arrow that was pointing down appeared over the standard XCOM full-helmet, which she noticed lying on the ground next to the table. She restricted herself from rolling her eyes, knowing better than to annoy her strict instructor with displays of sarcasm.

She put the helmet on. She had used them before, during her equipment training a few months ago, but only a few times. Visual displays and indicators flickered to life, part of the HUD built into the helmet's visor. It was honestly pretty disorienting, and she hadn't gotten used to it in the brief time she got to use it.

The helmets were only used sometimes. XCOM didn't have enough armor and helmets for everyone, and you couldn't bring the helmet on a mission that required you to sneak into a city or something, anyway.

"You will now use proper communications procedure using the communicator within your helmet," the Lieutenant said. "You will address me as Command. Your own callsign is Falcon. Copy?"

"Solid copy, Command," Selena acknowledged. This much, she understood well, as she had brushed up on her protocol when Morgan had asked for her help the other day. "What are my orders?"

"Your first mission is very straightforward," the Lieutenant said, his voice now crackling through the communicator within the helmet rather than within her head. "The stairwell leading down leads to only a single room. Falcon, your orders are to breach and secure it. Intelligence has confirmed the presence of at least one hostile, you are to shoot-to-kill. Report in when the room is secure. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I will only tell you this once, Private - use your best judgment. Begin whenever."

Selena quickly checked her equipment one last time. Her HUD indicated that her rifle was fully loaded and set to full-auto. If she had a squad with her, it could have displayed their vitals and positions, as well.

Selena started towards the stairwell down, but stopped halfway. She turned back to the table with the weapons, and added a flashbang grenade to her belt. She then cautiously approached the stairwell's door, rifle at the ready.

She pressed it open very slowly.

...but there was nothing there. About fifteen steps down, there was another door to her left.

_That must be the room, then._

She walked down slowly, taking care not to make any noise.

She silently took cover against the wall next to the door. Unlike the one leading to the stairwell, this one had a small window in it. She leaned forward slightly, just barely enough to take a glance around the edge.

It was a very standard apartment, not that Selena had any context for one. The room was messy and chaotic, as if it had been ransacked. An unmade bed, a few messy dressers, an unorganized bookshelf. Clothes and miscellaneous junk were scattered about, implying that the dressers had been hastily searched. There were what looked like bullet holes in the wall, as well.

But what caught her eye was the lone figure in black armor. He had his back to the door, but clearly had an assault rifle in his hands.

Selena leaned back, flattening herself against the wall. She had never trained against _human_ targets before.

_But that's probably part of the test._

She pushed the air out of her nose. That wasn't going to work on her.

_...wouldn't be the first time I've killed someone who didn't expect it._

Selena shook her head. She was wasting time, the enemy soldier might not stand there forever. She unclipped the flashbang from her belt, and inched towards the door.

She gave the pull-ring of the flashbang a firm tug, and lobbed it into the room with an underhand toss.

The enemy soldier reacted to her opening the door, but that only turned him around to look right into the flashbang. Selena ducked back against the wall to avoid the grenade's effects.

The flashbang went off, and Selena burst through the room. The soldier had collapsed onto his back, clutching his head with one arm while the other flailing limb held his assault rifle.

Selena let off a quick burst, aiming for his chest. All of the rounds connected, and the man jerked unnaturally, before lying still.

Selena wasted no time and swept across the rest of the room. There were two closed doors, and a kitchen in the corner.

There was a loud shout in a language she didn't recognize, and a man popped out from behind the kitchen counter, pointing a pistol at Selena.

Selena reacted faster, and loosed a volley of fire at the man. He did mange to fire his pistol, but only as he was collapsing backwards, and the round pinged against an oven. Selena rushed forward and hopped around the kitchen counter, rifle trained down. The man was definitely dead, slumped forward in a growing pool of his own blood.

Selena glanced at the ammo readout on her HUD.

 _Still over half capacity, good._..

Selena took a position next to the closest closed door. She took a step back, and lunged at the door with her foot. Her boot had plenty of force behind it, and she kicked the door open with relative ease. She stormed forward, sweeping her eyes across the new room.

"Don't shoot!" There was a man with his knees on the carpet in front of her, in between the room's two beds. He seemed middle-aged, was wearing a business suit and tie, and apparently had his hands bound behind his back.

"Oh god, please help me!" He pleaded hysterically, realizing that Selena wasn't an enemy. "Help me! Please, you've got to get me out of here, they're going to kill me!"

Selena stepped forward hurriedly, pulling out her knife.

_Oh, good. He's stuck with ropes, not handcuffs, so I can definitely get him out..._

"Thank you," the man sobbed. "Thank you!"

"It's alright," Selena assured the man. "I'll get you out of here."

_It's hard to believe this is a simulation. It feels so real!_

Selena heard a noise.

And then everything went black.

* * *

_What...what happened?_

Selena was back in physical world. The virtual reality device had been removed, and she was panting and damp with sweat. The Lieutenant was standing next to her bed, his expression unreadable.

"What...happened?" She asked breathlessly.

"You died," the Lieutenant said bluntly. Selena wasn't sure if he sounded amused or disappointed.

_Probably both._

"Let's review just how you died, yes?"

He held out a tablet computer for her to take, which she did. A file was already prepared, and she pressed play.

It was...camera footage. Perfectly clear camera footage, as if taken from the perspective of a fly buzzing around behind her shoulders. Selena watched herself creep down the stairs, she watched herself hesitate outside the doorway.

"You did better than some, there," the Lieutenant said. "Some people aren't ready to handle shooting a person, even when they know it's just in their head."

Selena watched herself toss the flashbang and shoot the stunned man.

"Reasonable breach," the Lieutenant nodded. "And good reflexes with the enemy behind the counter."

She shot the man behind the counter again, and kicked the door open once more.

"And here's where it all fell apart."

As the hostage began to cry to her past self for help, the video split into two parts. Another perspective of the scene now occupied the corner of the screen, showing her what was going on outside the bedroom. Another black-armored man exited the other closed door, and crept along the wall.

As Selena watched herself pull out her knife and walk towards the hostage, she realized what she had done wrong.

"You see it, then?" the Lieutenant asked, noticing her reaction. "Good."

_How far is this going to go? Do...do I really have to watch this?_

Yes.

Yes, she did.

The man whirled around into the open doorway, his rifle trained at the ready. Selena watched herself glance up at the noise.

...and then saw her bullet-ridden corpse fall backwards as the soldier emptied a volley into her body. The soldier then shot the hostage in the head, and the screen froze on the scene of their bodies strewn about the bedroom.

Selena coughed violently, sputtering and gasping. She held her fingers against her chest, breathing heavily.

She felt nauseous, but couldn't vomit.

"Does watching yourself die disturb you?" the Lieutenant asked calmly.

Selena swallowed, panting too heavily to be able to respond.

"It should. I would be concerned if it didn't."

"G-god," she managed to stammer. "Did...did I really need to see that?"

"Yes," he answered plainly.

"W...why?"

The doctor from earlier came by, handing her a glass of water and dabbing at her forehead with a damp towel. He looked upset - he probably disagreed with Arkady pushing her that far.

"Lieutenant Sokolov will explain _after_ you've taken a minute to recover," the doctor said firmly.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, but did not protest, allowing the doctor to tend to Selena. Her breathing eventually normalized, and she sipped at the glass of water.

It was ice cold.

"The simulation is designed to play out that way, no matter what you choose," The Lieutenant explained. "Even if you chose the other door, you would have found a bound hostage, and the final enemy would have been in the other door."

Selena handed the glass of water back to the doctor, who took it and went back to the control desk.

"I know what I did wrong," Selena said, sitting up. "I should have ignored the hostage, and finished sweeping the area."

"Correct."

"But...why did I have to _watch myself die?_ " Selena asked. "That was the worst thing I've ever seen!"

"Was it?"

Selena blinked in surprise. She hadn't been expecting him to question that.

"I can tell that you are strong, girl," he said, maintaining a coolly focused gaze on her. "You don't survive living on the run from ADVENT if you are weak. And you didn't hesitate long when you realized that your targets were human, so I assume you've probably killed another human being before."

He...he guessed all that? Just from how she acted?

"Or, you realized the necessity of it," the Lieutenant shrugged. "Either way is good, and saves me time."

Selena didn't know what to say to that.

"You asked why you had to watch yourself die."

She nodded.

"I can tell that you are strong," he repeated. "Physically. Accuracy, room-clearing, equipment use...you would learn all these in time. I am sure."

He crossed his arms and adjusted his posture, looking off to the side.

"UTA stands for Urban Target Awareness. This was the first test in the series. Officially, it drills the need for an understanding of the environment. Your tactical awareness. I have never made it a rookie's first VR scenario, until now."

He glanced back at her. Selena's eyes voiced the question that her vocal cords did not.

"Because I needed to test your mental strength," he explained. "You have wondered it yourself, yes? Why you are receiving so much training, when you so clearly long for combat?"

It was frankly uncanny at how easily the Lieutenant had deciphered her personality. She had underestimated the stoic man.

"...yes," Selena admitted. She thought about it often. It made her feel a little guilty when Morgan had thrown her a 'first mission celebration slash birthday party'. Silently, Selena was a little resentful that it couldn't have been a _real_ mission. Something more than a simple supply run. She had been careful to keep those emotions well contained, however, unwilling to spoil her sister's cheer.

"Because you would die," the Lieutenant said plainly. "And possibly get someone else killed along with you."

Selena started at him blankly.

The Lieutenant shook his head. "You have good potential. But your fierce desire to fight means nothing if you lack the skill to carry it out."

...

_He's right._

Selena sighed, her shoulders dropping and face hanging low.

"I'm sorry, sir. You're right."

"Don't be," he snorted. "You performed well."

_...that's the first genuine praise I've ever received from him, and it's for me failing a mission and watching myself die._

"Remember this, Retter."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He had never called her by name before, always 'girl' or 'Private'.

"Sir?"

"You are never safe. Only safer."

"Never safe," she repeated. "Only safer."

He nodded, satisfied. "You are dismissed for the rest of the day. Remember what you've learned today."

She returned his nod.

"I will, sir. Thank you."

* * *

**_Babylon, Farah's Electronics_ **

Sara wore a genuine smile as she saw Abraham's car pulling into to park in front of the store. From her spot at a chair near the store's windows, she saw him get out, dressed in his normal work attire, glancing around uncertainly. She waved at him through the window, and he entered the store. The bell above the store's door jingled as it opened and shut, which might have drawn the attention of other customers - if there were any. Farah's shop had closed early today.

Abraham was clearly nervous, swallowing and darting his eyes around, but he had done it. She had to admit, she was a little proud of him. He was being remarkably brave.

Farah, the woman who owned the store, moved to welcome the customer out of instinct, but Sara cut her off with a single shake of the head. Farah's eyes went wide as she realized what was going on, and moved to the back of the store to play her part.

Sara wasted no time with greetings. Abraham had managed to keep himself together and get through a shift of work, after what was no doubt a sleepless night.

Now it was time for the final piece of the plan.

"This way," Sara said firmly, standing up and beckoning for him to follow her into the back of the store. Abraham nodded and followed suit.

She led him to the storage room of the electronics shop. Computers, televisions, and other various electronic devices were lined up in neat rows, in varying states of repair. Farah had a nice little business here, at her spot in a commercial hub where the city and suburbs began to blend together.

Farah was an XCOM sympathizer, having helped smuggle items in and out of Babylon for almost two years now. And if she played her part correctly and properly disposed of Abraham's car, her store wouldn't even be compromised.

Well, probably. There was always a chance ADVENT might be able to connect the dots, scattered as they were. Sara had taken great cautions to ensure they couldn't trace Abraham's escape here. If they did, it was unfortunate, as the woman _was_ admittedly quite useful.

But smugglers were much easier to replace than computer scientists. Abraham's skills were infinitely more valuable.

Farah had already set everything up. The shop owner inclined her head gratefully towards Sara, and gestured towards the tall, ribbed sheet of metal embedded in the back wall - the truck unloading door. Or loading, in this case.

Sara lifted the sliding metal door up, revealing a waiting cargo truck - Farah's usual supplier. Abraham was going to be stowing away among a perfectly legitimate shipment of electronic devices. Farah's trucks had an established track record, and wouldn't be thoroughly searched. The crate Abraham was going to hide in was shielded against outside scans, and with his body weight, would weigh just about as much as the other crates.

Sara was certain that Abraham would be smuggled out successfully, because she had tested the method personally. She had been skeptical of the need, at first, but Director Mohammed had assured her that acquiring a computer specialist was truly _that_ important. So she had climbed into the crate herself, subjecting her body to several hours of cramped immobility. It was tremendously uncomfortable, to be sure.

But it had worked flawlessly, and that is what mattered.

...

_Time to reassure him one last time._

"You're going to be fine," she said, taking his hand in her own and gently squeezing it. "You'll be out of there before midnight. I'll be there to let you out myself, okay?"

He pursed his lips, nodding firmly to bolster his own confidence.

"Alright," he said. "But can you promise me something?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Rub my shoulders for me when I get out," he chuckled nervously. "I'll probably need it."

Sara laughed too, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "I promise. Now come on, let's get going."

And with those parting words, Sara watched him climb into the truck, Farah helping to tuck him away into the crate. He gave her a thumbs up, and then ducked his head down as Farah secured the crate lid on top of him. Farah got out, and helped Sara close and bolt the cargo truck's doors. Farah gave her an expectant look, and Sara handed her the keys to Abraham's car. Her own set, anyway.

It was too early to celebrate, of course. She had been trained better than that.

But this mission was as good as done.

* * *

_**Tehran, Iran - Near Mellat Park** _

Damien pressed two fingers against his neck to check his pulse.

...elevated, but steady. That was good. He needed to keep up with at least part of his workout.

He had just finished an early morning jog around Mellat Park, having woken up an hour early to make time for some exercise. The _Nation Park_ made for quite the enjoyable area to jog around. Unlike the rest of the former national capital, the park's beauty had not diminished over the last few years. It was well maintained, with several rows of flowers beds, trees, and fountains. There weren't many people around, but most of them seemed content, at the least, taking an early respite among the natural delights. In the distance, he could see the needle-like crest of the Milad tower, and even further behind that, the snow-capped Alborz mountains.

_Iran is actually pretty nice. Definitely not as hot as I expected._

Mellat Park was about ten minutes away from Damien's hotel. He figured that, were anyone spying on him, him taking his time to appreciate the local sights could only help to add to his cover of being a tourist.

His quick break over, Damien rolled his shoulders and turned around the street corner, where his hotel was. He hummed a tune he had heard a man in the park singing. He stopped after a while, though, conserving his breath to increase his pace. The sooner he got back, the sooner he could shower, change his clothes, and head out to the Fang's base.

Negotiations were going pretty well. He was looking forward to bringing them into XCOM.

After a few more minutes of jogging, he recognized someone.

Amir, his local contact, was standing in front of the hotel, looking up at the rooms on the second floor.

"Hey," Damien greeted in Persian, walking over with a hand raised in greeting. "See any black cats up there?"

_That stupid code phrase is going to be the first change, honestly..._

Upon getting closer to him, Damien realized that the man was not Amir. Not only that, he gave no sign that he had even registered Damien's presence.

Damien suddenly realized that the man was staring at _his room,_ unflinching and unblinking. And he was smiling.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The man hadn't moved since he called out to him, either.

"Sorry, wrong person," Damien muttered, turning around sharply on his heels and jogging back the way he came. When he was sure no one was looking, he ducked behind the wall of a nearby shop, peering out from around the corner.

The man was still staring at Damien's hotel room.

_...that is not normal. Something is wrong here, and I might be compromised._

Damien slunk away from the building, acting as casually as possible. He wasn't exactly a spy, but he had been trained for this by one of the Director's best agents. As he began to walk back the way he came, Damien scanned the nearby area, looking for anyone who was either obviously watching him or was _too_ innocent.

But nothing struck out at him.

_Not good._

There was nothing incriminating in his hotel room. Nothing against XCOM, anyway, although the police might be a little upset about his fake travel documents, if they found them. Still, a strange man staring intently at his room was too suspicious to pass up.

_I need to warn the Fangs about this, and send a signal to HQ._

Damien fished the cellphone out of his pocket, and sent off a text message. It was an innocuous thing, meaningless to any outside observers, but was sent to his handler. Damien didn't even know who his handler _was_ , but the coded distress message would eventually be relayed back to the Director, he was certain of that. XCOM communication protocol was incredibly thorough, especially with the recent tightenings to ensure security.

Damien decided that he would take a long detour on foot to reach the Fangs' base, instead of meeting the transportation van like he had the past three days. If he jogged, it would take him...about an hour, probably.

_No time to waste, then. If this turns out to be nothing, they'll understand why I'm late. They're a fairly reasonable group, when it comes down to it._

Damien set off jogging once again. Only this time, when he stopped to check his pulse, he was much more careful to monitor his surroundings.

* * *

The streets were too quiet.

It was still early in the morning, true, but it wasn't _that_ early anymore. Yet there was hardly anyone on the streets, and those who were moved quickly and with a hint of fear in their eyes. As he got closer to the Fang's base, Damien had to slow down to blend in. It was clear that people did not _jog_ through this part of the city.

It added an extra fifteen minutes to his travel time, but Damien eventually got within a few blocks of the base, located in the part of the city where the big, blocky apartment buildings began to give way to smaller houses. From his current position, Damien had a slight elevation advantage on the base, and had a reasonably good view of it.

...it looked fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

...

And then he heard it.

Whatever it was, it was far away, but Damien heard a _thudding_ kind of noise. Repetitive, at exactly the same intervals. Construction noise, maybe?

_...no, it's getting closer._

As the source of the noise got closer, Damien realized that there was a mechanical whirring after each _thud_ , and that it was more of a metallic, clanking _stomp_ than a mere _thud_. More than that, whatever it was was moving pretty damn fast.

_...oh no._

_...oh, fuck! FUCK!_

Damien ducked out of the way, dashing into a nearby alley and hiding behind a dumpster.

Damien only had a brief moment where the source of the noise was in view, briefly appearing in between the buildings that created the alley, but there was no mistaking what it was.

A Sectopod.

The bipedal, pitch-black war robot was little more than a big, armored box on stilts, but the Sectopod was a nigh unstoppable war machine. The otherwise utilitarian and spartan design was decorated only by a few glowing red lines, and the ADVENT logo on each 'thigh' of the stilts. The Sectopod's armor was completely impervious to most modern explosives, let alone small arms fire. There was an enhanced gauss cannon mounted into the top of the machine, that made full use of the height advantage granted when its legs extended vertically, bringing the armored box just over two stories off the ground. And if that wasn't enough, there was some kind of...energy cannon, embedded in the front-facing center of the machine, which was strong enough to destroy an M1 Abrams tank in a single shot.

XCOM had _never_ managed to even disable one, let alone destroy one. As such, the standing policy when one of the rare machines was encountered was the immediate abortion of the mission. They were _that_ dangerous.

Even when humanity had openly waged war against the aliens, all those years ago, Sectopods were almost completely invincible. The only times that they had ever fallen were the results of repeated airstrikes or being struck with multiple HEAT rounds from a tank.

Damien kept himself well hidden as the giant machine charged down the street. Following just after the Sectopod, an ADVENT armored van followed behind, creeping along at a slow pace.

_I've got to get out of here, now!_

Damien spun around, taking off in the other direction. Mercifully, the street on the other side of the alley was devoid of any ADVENT.

...but it was devoid of any civilians, too. People were probably watching him through the windows, people that could potentially report his presence later. Not that they would know who he was, but his description might be enough for ADVENT to go on.

_Not anywhere close to safe, need to get the fuck out of here..._

Damien rushed away, trying to keep his pace in-between a conspicuous jog and an extremely conspicuous sprint.

After less than a minute of running, he heard some kind of an explosion behind him, and the distinct sound of magnetic weapon fire.

Damien knew that the Fangs' fate was sealed the moment he heard the Sectopod. Not even ADVENT would parade something like that around in plain sight without a good reason.

_...poor bastards are going to be slaughtered. How did ADVENT even know? They had just barely gotten started! And to think, I would have been one of them, if not for that creepy fucker outside the hotel!_

He shook his head while he ran.

_Not the time, Damien, just keep fucking running!_

And so he did.

* * *

Some thirty minutes later, Damien was on his way towards the public transit station. He had thrown his cellphone away in a trashcan. It was disposable, and didn't have any usable intel on it, but he had to assume the possibility that it might be compromised. He no longer had a safe means of contacting Amir, but for all he knew, Amir was the one who ratted out the Fangs! No, he would have to make his way out on his own.

After hastily buying a new shirt, a hat, and sunglasses from a clothes shop, Damien was still assembling his plan. The first step would be to get out of town. Then, he would have to find some way to either contact HQ, Arzen Outpost, or some other XCOM affiliate. Then again, if Amir sold out the Fangs, then he might have sold out Arzen. Damien couldn't be certain that it was safe.

He swore under his breath, drawing a few looks from passersby.

_I'll think about that later! I just need to get out of Tehran. There's no megacity in Iran, so I just need somewhere with less ADVENT presence...Qazvin, or maybe Takestan. I can figure it out there!_

The transit station wasn't far now. With a little luck, he would be able to catch a bus right away. He had a decent bit of cash on him...after he got off, he might be able to rent a car or something, and ditch it when he got far enough away.

...there was some kind of commotion going on behind him. Damien refused to turn around and look, instead tucking his head down and walking faster.

Someone yelled behind him. High strung as he was, Damien couldn't tell if it was Persian or Glyph that was being yelled.

But he wasn't about to chance it, so he started walking even faster.

As soon as he rounded the next street corner, Damien sidestepped into another alleyway, and began to run.

* * *

A/N: No doubt that most of my audience has already heard of it, but if you're clamoring for more XCOM, I'd recommend the Hades Contingency and the Atlas Protocol by Xabiar. It's purely an XCOM: EW story, nothing to do with XCOM 2, and our interpretations of the aliens differ quite a bit, but it's still very well-written and enjoyable. Unbelievably long, though, so bear in mind you'll be reading it for some time to come.

[No, this is not a paid promotion.]

I'm not going to post a new thread on the XCOM subreddit for a while, because I don't want to spam it. These last three chapters have come out in very quick succession because I've been on Spring Break, which is about to end. Odds are strong that I'll get one more out very soon, but expect the pace to drop a bit after that.

As a bit of a teaser, there is a big operation coming up. Not 100% sure if it's going to be the next chapter, but it's likely.

Haven't been doing anything very interesting, lately, because I've been writing up a storm!

Always looking for feedback! Until next time, everyone.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I fairly sure that I've mentioned it, but in case I haven't, Kenji's nickname/callsign is Meltdown. Why would I bring that up, I wonder?

 

**_The Sinkhole, Intelligence Director's Office_ **

Karim Mohammed was standing behind his desk, a very satisfied smile on his face and with his hands buried in his pockets. An attractive woman with dark hair was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of his desk. She was doing her best to put on a professional visage, but her superior knew her well enough to see the pride contained within.

"Spectacular work, Agent Rana," Karim said, taking a seat in his own chair. "I am truly impressed, and you know me well enough to understand that I do not hand out such praise lightly."

"Thank you very much, Director," she said, her lips twitching up slightly.

Having abandoned the clothes of her civilian guise 'Sara', Rana had switched into the more familiar XCOM uniform. Which, admittedly, was just a light tan shirt with an XCOM logo patch sewn onto the left breast, and a pair of green combat pants. She didn't get to wear it very often, as much of her work was spent far away and under a different identity, but she couldn't help but feel a twitch of pride whenever she put it on. It was just a shirt with a patch on it, true, but...it was special to her.

And an intelligence operative really needs to take all the tiny little joys that they can.

"Your performance was commendable. An excellent manipulation of his psychological profile...you gave him what he wanted most, and took away his work, the only thing tethering him to ADVENT."

Karim took one hand out of his pocket and idly rubbed his chin. "Out of curiosity, how did you manage to fabricate the news article that reported Dr. Welsh's death? In regards to him being the victim of a crossfire in a drug raid. We never identified a body."

"It was easier than you would think," Rana shrugged. "ADVENT news reports are actually quite easy to replicate. The hard part was touching up the picture of the body. That was beyond my skills, I had to reach out to a contact with image manipulation expertise."

In truth, XCOM did not know with complete certainty that Doctor Zachary Welsh was dead. Rana, who had been observing Zachary as one of many potential defectors, took note of his suspicious disappearance, and investigated. By tracing his phone calls and email records, she learned that he _was_ genuinely upset about the targeting code, and very likely would have gone to the media. Not that it would have done any good, since ADVENT had total control of the American media.

In the end, Rana never found a body. Either Dr. Welsh's body had been disposed of by ADVENT, or they were forcing him to continue working for them at gunpoint in some underground laboratory. Either way, there was no chance of the lie ever coming back to hurt her. Although, even if it somehow did, it probably wouldn't matter. Abraham was a smart man, he would probably see the greater good of the matter.

"The best lies are buried among the truth," Karim remarked, drawing her attention again.

"Convincing Dr. Tannous after a mere week has significantly accelerated my predictions," he continued. "The Avenger may be finished even sooner than expected."

"That's excellent news, sir. May I ask when to expect my next mission?"

Karim arched an amused eyebrow.

"How very diligent of you, Agent. But did it not occur to you that you are currently _on_ your next mission?"

"What?" She blinked and shook her head. "How am I - oh. I'm to play babysitter, yes?"

Rana rolled her eyes. Karim laughed once without opening his mouth, before turning completely serious.

"You are his only tether to his new life, Agent," he said coldly. "Do not underestimate the important of your continued role. This task is not finished until our engineering staff assures me that they have a _complete_ understanding of the alien computers, and even then, I would prefer for him to be an active scientist instead of a depressed _wreck_ because his only emotional support abandoned him. Until then, you will continue to play the concerned lover. Am I understood?"

Rana slunk back in her chair a little, eyes wide with surprise. This was the closest she had ever seen the Director come to losing his temper.

"Yes, Director," she said, coming back to her senses. "Completely understood. I'll get to work as soon as he wakes up. Show him around the base, encourage him to make some new friends with the other scientists. You have my assurances that I will treat this task as seriously as any other."

"Good. Reveal as many truths as you deem necessary. But make it clear to him that he has a crucial role to play in restoring the Avenger. A man like him needs a goal." Satisfied, Karim allowed his facial features and posture to relax, and he assumed a more comfortable position.

"Is there anything else, Director?" Rana asked, crossing her legs.

"Possibly," Karim frowned. "I suppose you are connected to it, but it is not good news. Do you still wish to hear it?"

She nodded.

"The operative that you trained," Karim explained. "Damien Black. He's gone missing. His handler received a distress signal from him only a few hours ago, and early information suggests some kind of ADVENT action within Tehran. The independent resistance group that he was trying to recruit has very likely been exterminated."

Rana bit her lip. That was bad news, indeed. She had rather liked Damien. Still, he wasn't confirmed dead, and she had trained him how to survive in exactly that kind of situation. If he managed to send a distress signal, he would probably make it out safely.

...probably.

"The group wasn't especially noteworthy," Karim continued. "Not many members. Not much in the form of tangible resistance efforts, either. Hardly a tremendous loss in the greater scheme of things. Still, it is rather concerning."

"Why is that, sir?"

"Because they were a very recently formed group," Karim explained. "Hardly more than a few months, if my sources can be believed. Which may not be the case. The most likely explanation is that Arzen Outpost holds an informant. Until we can verify otherwise, we'll have to heavily restrict ourselves in regards to Iran."

"Concerning," Rana agreed. "But Arzen is just a staging post. Not much strategic value itself. It hardly compares to somewhere like Unity Hills."

"A matter to be solved when we have more information," Karim said with a wave of his hand. "That is all for today, Agent. You are dismissed."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Mess Hall_ **

"Selly!"

Selena let go of the handle of the mess hall entrance door and took a step back to see her sister jumping and waving at her in the distance.

"Wait for me!" Morgan shouted.

Selena stepped to the side and leaned against the wall of the building as Morgan hustled over. As she got close, Selena pushed herself off the wall and walked towards her sister, preparing herself.

Morgan crossed the remaining distance with a small jump, colliding into her sister and wrapping her arms around her tightly. Some other early-risers smiled at the sight as they passed the two sisters and went in for breakfast.

"Hey," Selena croaked, uncomfortable from the pressure. "What's up?"

Morgan gave her sister one last squeeze and then hopped back, looking up hopefully.

"Let's have breakfast together!" Morgan said. "It feels like I haven't seen you in weeks!"

Selena blinked. Had it really been that long?

_I guess I've been keeping pretty busy...stupid of me. I should have paid more attention to her._

"Alright," Selena nodded. "Let's go before the line gets longer."

* * *

The two sisters placed their trays of food down at an empty table. It was isolated in one of the corners of the building, giving them ample privacy to talk.

"Oatmeal again," Selena sighed. "I'm starting to think it'll never change."

"Oatmeal isn't so bad," Morgan countered. "It's pretty good with the dried fruit!"

_Tolerable, maybe, but there's hardly any in it today..._

"Fine," Selena shrugged, ceding the point. "What do you want to talk about?"

Selena had to resist her trained instinct to consume her meal as quickly and efficiently as possible. Morgan wasn't a _slow_ eater, but she usually talked so much she didn't make time to eat. Selena didn't want to have to sit there awkwardly with an empty tray.

"Well, for starters, where have you _been_ lately?" Morgan huffed. "Even Emi and Hami don't know where you are half the time!"

Selena nearly gagged. " _Please_ don't tell me you've nicknamed him Hami," she pleaded.

"Don't try to dodge the question!" Morgan said, furrowing her eyebrows to put on the illusion of annoyance.

"Fine," Selena sighed. "Lieutenant Sokolov has been training me one-on-one. He won't let me on a mission until he's satisfied that I'm good enough. Which I'm not."

Surprised, Morgan dropped her facade. Selena didn't like to talk about her insecurities and shortcomings. Morgan expected a sarcastic joke or defensive comment as a follow-up, but instead, she only felt a calm honesty radiating from her older sister.

Suddenly, Morgan found herself much more interested in Lieutenant Sokolov.

"What's he like?" she asked. "How have you been training?"

Selena frowned. How much to tell her? She definitely wasn't going to reveal that she had watched herself die on more than one occasion now. That would just scare her, and she definitely didn't need Morgan to be more worried about her than she already must be.

"Part of it's physical," Selena explained. "Target practice, physical tests. That kind of stuff. The other half is with this virtual reality machine. It's like this pair of goggles that they put on your head, and they knock you unconscious? Then it's like...playing a videogame, but you're dreaming it, and the doctors can monitor and control it. Other people can even be part of it. It's kind of scary how realistic it is."

"That sounds amazing..." Morgan mumbled incredulously.

"It is," Selena agreed. "But you get over it. You have to treat it completely seriously, you can't treat it like a game. That's the whole point."

Selena ate a spoonful of oatmeal as Morgan processed what she just learned.

_Yep, just as bland as I could have hoped for. Yum..._

"Anyway, that's what I've been doing," Selena shrugged. "And practicing by myself and doing our math work. Sorry that I haven't gone to check up on you. What have you been doing?"

"That's okay!" Morgan said with a shake of her head. "I've been busy too, but not as much as you. Director Mohammed is done teaching me for now. Mr. Bradford is my teacher now, actually. I'm learning how to give orders over the radio and stuff."

Morgan bit her lip and looked to the side. "I don't really like it."

"Why not? You're a good communicator."

"I just don't feel comfortable giving people orders," Morgan said softly. "But I know it's to keep people alive, so I'm doing my best to get over it."

That gave Selena pause. Perhaps it had been wrong of her to withhold the specifics of the VR training. If Morgan was training on how to give orders and command missions, she was eventually going to have to test that outside of a classroom. And where else would she go but the VR training room? It wouldn't be at all surprising if she took the place of the Lieutenant sometime in the future.

The fact that her little sister might have to watch her die made Selena's stomach churn worse than any oatmeal.

"I can handle it, Selly."

Selena looked up from her own discomfort to see Morgan looking at her, a serious expression on her face.

"I'm not as fragile as you think I am. I don't like giving orders. I don't _like_ putting people in danger. But I can do it if I have to."

"Do you think I had to read all those books for fun?" Morgan continued with a grimace. "They had some of the most awful things I've ever read in them!"

Morgan stood up and gripped the table, her fingers beginning to turn white from the exertion. She was staring down at the table, now.

"I hated that book," she spat. "Hated it. Hated it..."

Selena could have sworn that she saw a kind of shimmering in Morgan's irises.

And then she noticed a few people starting to look towards her direction.

"Sis," she warned. "Take a deep breath. You're getting too worked up."

She had felt it, too. The slow, creeping transition from the almost intangible tingling of Morgan's normal effects, to a dull, throbbing _anger_.

_An eruption..._

More and more people were looking over at their corner. Some of them seemed to understand what was going on, and excused themselves or quickly looked away. Those who didn't quickly withered under Selena's harsh glare.

Selena got up and slid herself across the table. She came up behind her sister, who was beginning to breathe heavily, and started to rub her shoulders.

"Hated it..." Morgan muttered bitterly, head hung low.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Selena said soothingly. "It's okay. Just take a deep breath for me, okay?"

Morgan's iron grip relaxed a little, but she said nothing. Selena wrapped her arms around Morgan's front, nuzzling her head with her cheek.

"Come on. Breathe in..."

She hesitated, but started to inhale slowly.

"And out..."

The gnawing anger began to evaporate as Morgan let out the breath. There was an inaudible, collective sigh throughout the room as the pressure stopped.

Morgan's shoulders dropped, and her grip relaxed. Selena caught her before she could collapse back down onto her seat, and gently guided her down. She sat down next to her and allowed Morgan to lean on her.

"I'm sorry," Morgan said weakly. "I hate when that happens..."

Selena shushed her. "No more hate. Just breathe."

Selena gently stroked her little sister's head as her breaths grew gradually more steady. Nothing else in the world mattered right now. None of the people looking at her mattered, nowhere else mattered. She didn't have anywhere to be today, but Selena would have stayed as long as it took, even if it meant facing the Lieutenant's wrath.

"I'm sorry," Morgan repeated, her voice stronger.

"It's _okay_ ," Selena assured. "We all know you can't control it. And you managed to stop yourself."

"No, I didn't," Morgan sighed. Strength having returned to her body, she pushed herself off her sister and sat upright. "You stopped it. Again."

"That isn't true. You're always the one who calms yourself down in the end."

Selena leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table to get a better look at her sister's face.

"You said it yourself, didn't you? You're not fragile. Besides, no one is blaming you, sis. Okay?"

There was a silent pause, and a look of uncertainty.

"Okay," Morgan finally accepted.

"Then let's finish breakfast, and we'll wait until you're feeling better. Where did you have to go after this?"

"I have to go to Mr. Bradford's office soon."

"Well, you're not going anywhere until you're better. He of all people will understand. And I'm going to walk you there, okay?"

"Okay."

Morgan slumped to her side, closing her eyes and resting her head on Selena's shoulder.

"You would make a good doctor, Selly," she smiled tiredly. "You take such good care of me."

"Of course I do," Selena huffed. "You're my little sister. Now, come on. You can eat my oatmeal..."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole, Central's Office_ **

"Alright, Morgan," Bradford said after clearing his throat. "Let's stop there for today."

Morgan frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall. They had only been at it for about an hour, they had at least one more to go.

"I'm feeling fine now," she assured firmly. "I can keep going."

Bradford gave her a sad smile and readjusted his posture in his office chair.

"I know you are. We're not stopping because I think you're still sick...we're stopping because you burned through everything I prepared for you faster than I expected."

"...oh."

"Honestly, I don't think there's that much more left to teach you here," Bradford sighed. "There's only so much you can learn from practice examples like these."

Morgan scooted back in her own chair and tilted her head. "Does that mean I'll be moving on to practicing with the VR machines soon? Like Selly?"

"Probably," Bradford nodded. "I'll have to talk with Karim to arrange the schedule, so we have at least a couple more days."

Bradford couldn't help but feel a little useless. Karim had already covered all the bases, Bradford was just reinforcing what Morgan already knew.

An awkward silence filled the room for a time.

"So, uh," Bradford started uncomfortably. "How have you been, Morgan? It feels like we haven't just talked in a long time."

"Well," Morgan nodded, her tone light and cheerful. "Not including today's incident, I've been pretty good! I like getting to work on school stuff with the others. I visited Abdul in the hospital yesterday, and he seemed like he was doing okay. And I've been trying to help in the kitchen when I have the time. I think I'm doing pretty well, really, I just need to be more careful to vent properly."

Right...Selena had escorted her younger sister to his office, explaining that she had a minor 'eruption' in the mess hall some thirty minutes prior.

An eruption was their personal slang for one type of Morgan's...what the hell did the doctor call it? An 'emotional burst'. Morgan was a naturally cheerful and generally happy young woman, but she wasn't immune to negative emotions. Sadness, anger, jealousy, worry...she felt all of those.

But...differently. Morgan had to be very careful with her negative emotions, and manage them properly. When people normally bottle up their emotions, they have to either let it out with stress relief, or they are going to eventually explode. Bradford knew all too well, feelings like that _never_ left on their own. They had to be addressed.

And if Morgan didn't address hers? Well, her 'explosions' were rare, but much worse than a normal person. Morgan's emotional abilities would work to her own detriment, causing one emotion to spiral out of control, overpowering all the others. It would interfere with her ability to think rationally, and in the most dire of circumstances, even her health.

Thankfully, it had only ever gotten that bad on two occasions. The first of which was when she was quite a lot younger, even before they had fled to Russia. It was another eruption. He didn't even remember the cause anymore, but Morgan had gotten so incredibly angry, it literally crippled her, rendering her unable to speak and barely able to move for half an hour. She eventually passed out, and had an abnormally high temperature for a few days.

They had practiced ways to calm down, after that. Breathing exercises, counting down from ten, meditation, stuff like that. And Bradford and Selena would always check on her every now and then, talking with her about her feelings. It was why Morgan was such an honest and open person - she _had_ to be, or she just wouldn't be able to function normally.

That was why Bradford would always tolerate, even encourage, her games, jokes, and pranks. He would endure whatever she needed if it meant she could retain her emotional stability. And although Morgan had gotten much better at self control with age, the threat of a negative emotional burst was obviously still present, something that gave Morgan no end of discomfort.

And at least part of her worries were justified. If Morgan created a 'black hole', as Selena had so aptly named, in the command center, for example? That could potentially botch an entire operation. Everyone would be too distracted by feelings of hopelessness and misery to work effectively.

_...that one still hurts to even think about._

"What about you?" Morgan asked neutrally, eyeing him carefully. "How are you doing?"

"I'm...uh..."

Bradford hesitated. There was no use trying to downplay his feelings here. Morgan would see right through him.

"Not great, Morgan," he admitted with a grimace. "I guess you could tell, huh?"

She shrugged and smiled sadly. "Don't take this personally, Mr. Bradford, but you're kind of easier to read than most people."

"Easy to read, huh," Bradford grunted.

"N-not that I think that's a bad thing!" Morgan backpedaled, waving her hands. "Really!"

"It's fine," he chuckled. "It's true, anyway."

Bradford leaned back into his chair and looked to the side, smiling just a little. Morgan interlaced her fingers, not sure what to say next.

They were both silent for a few minutes.

"Morgan," Bradford eventually said, straightening his posture. "There are some things I need to ask you. And they're probably going to sound really stupid and have obvious answers, but...I need to know."

"O-okay..."

"Do you resent me, Morgan?"

Her jaw dropped open in confusion.

"What?" She asked exasperatedly. "No! Why would I?"

"Because I didn't do enough for you two," Bradford explained. "Because you were cold and hungry. Because we had to live in horrible places."

"You're not Superman," Morgan said, rolling her eyes. "We know you did your best. It's not like you weren't cold and hungry, too."

"You really thought we resented you?" Morgan asked quietly, looking like she was hurt by the idea.

"I guess it was pretty stupid of me to even think that," Bradford sighed, leaning forward. "Sorry, Morgan."

Morgan hopped off her chair and walked to the other side of the desk. Before he could say anything, Morgan wrapped him up in a tight hug. Well, as close as she could manage, anyway. Her arms weren't long enough.

"Lily taught me that hugs can cure anything," Morgan said, her voice partially muffled into Bradford's chest.

She released the hug and pulled back, glaring at him with a pout.

"So maybe they'll cure you of being a huge idiot!" she huffed. "You _know_ that it's important to manage negative emotions; we talk about mine all the time! Why would you think that you didn't have to follow the same rule?!"

If he was alone, Bradford probably would have just sighed and silently criticized himself. But in front of Morgan, who he knew wasn't _that_ angry, he couldn't help but smile, just a little.

"You're right, of course," he said. "I should have talked about this a long time ago."

Morgan's lips briefly twitched, but she kept up the act.

"Hmph! I'll say." She folded her arms dramatically and looked away from him.

Bradford stood up and affectionately ruffled her hair, a familiar gesture that made her blink and nearly lose character.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," Bradford said seriously. "I won't keep things like this from you any more. I promise."

"Hmph. I'll tell Selly she can expect to hear from you, then."

Bradford couldn't help but laugh. "You're not a bad actress, you know?"

"Thanks." Morgan finally dropped her facade. "But seriously, you better talk to her soon, or I'm going to come up with the biggest, meanest prank ever, just for you."

"Duly noted," he chuckled.

"What else did you need to talk about?" She asked. "Might as well get everything out there, right?"

Bradford nodded and took a deep breath.

"Do you thi-"

The voice of the base AI, Haji, suddenly came to life through the intercom on Bradford's desk, interrupting his train of thought.

" _Attention all personnel,_ " it began in its deep, robotic tone," _Code Yellow is now in effect. Repeat, Code Yellow is now in effect. All active members of Hammer squad, as well as Captain Marai, are to report to the Skyranger. All members of River and Menace squads, report to the armory and await further instructions. All subterranean facilities are hereby locked down to personnel with security clearance level four and above for the duration of the operation._ "

Bradford took note of that last part. Restricting the entirety of the tunnel network was rarely a necessary step. That meant that this operation must be incredibly important, enough to forbid any and all possible distractions.

Morgan started to hurriedly gather her belongings. "I'll get out of the way, then."

"No," Bradford said, shaking his head, and placing his arms on his hips.

"No?" Morgan repeated, confused.

"This is the perfect opportunity for you to see how operations are run," he said. "I'm promoting you up to security level four."

Morgan blinked at the unexpected promotion.

He stood up and cocked his head towards the door.

"We'll do the paperwork later. But you need to promise that you'll not get in anyone's way while we're in there, and that you'll leave if you feel like you're losing control, no matter what you might see. Got it?"

"Yes," Morgan nodded hurriedly. "I promise!"

"Good. Then let's go."

* * *

**Operation: Anhur's Wrath**

**May 16, 2033 - 11:46**

**Objective: Ambush of ADVENT supply convoy, retrieval of crucial supplies**

**Area of Operation: Egyptian Regional Interstate I-75, east of Malawi**

**Joint Operation with local resistance forces**

**Mission Status - In progress**

"Any word on what to expect from our local allies, Captain?" Surge asked.

Every single one of the Skyranger's eight occupants was loaded to the brim with weaponry. Thundersaw finally had an opportunity to bring along the weapon he was named after, with armor piercing rounds to boot. Sickle had a massive Desert Eagle pistol strapped to his side and Surge had an extra supply of hollow-point ammo. Meltdown and Chalk's weapons were simply too big to fit in the Skyranger, and waited eagerly within their carrying cases.

Every single operative was fully equipped in the best armor XCOM could offer, helmets and all. This operation wasn't going to require much in terms of mobility. Extra plating, composite undervests...whatever the soldier could feasibly wear without being overly impacted.

But the most interesting weapon of all, however, was the fourth woman in the Skyranger, clad in a customized deep blue armor. Her eyes were concealed behind her fully enclosed helmet's darkened visor.

"Not yet," Captain Marai said, her voice sounding partially synthesized from the helmet's speaker. "But we'll know soon enough."

As Abdul was still recovering from his wounds, his spot had to be filled. The higher ups had figured that, on such a high priority mission, they could only afford the very best, and that was Hammer squad, led by the Captain.

Surge expected that Arkady might contest her leadership, but he was silent. That was a good sign - it meant he was comfortable with it. Surge had never fought under Captain Marai, but if Arkady trusted her, so would she.

"Since the majority of you don't know me," the Captain said, pounding her clenched fist against her armor. "Ashley Marai. Was a squad leader in the first XCOM. Before that, US Army. Callsign is Monsoon."

When nobody said anything, she continued.

"Looking forward to slaying some aliens with you all."

That got a round of approving laughter from everyone.

"We've heard a lot about you, Monsoon," Shayu commented. "I'm hoping that your skills are just as good as they say."

"They say a lot, I'm sure," Monsoon snorted. "I'll try to live up to your expectations."

A voice crackled to life through the communicator embedded within the Skyranger's interior. Four small nodules on the walls, two on each side, powered up and projected an image across the space in front of the aircraft's ramp.

" _Hammer squad, this is Central. ADVENT's convoy has maintained its bearing. What you're seeing now is the best photograph the local cell could take._ "

There were several large vehicles in the convoy. A black monster of a vehicle led the procession, a bulky, armored APC, with a currently unmanned gauss turret mounted on the top. Behind it were several big rig trucks. Oddly, only some of the transportation vehicles were carrying a shipping container. At least two of the trucks simply strapped their crates onto the flat bed of the truck, or perhaps magnetically locked them in place. And behind _that_ , at the edge of the image, was an armored van, identical to the kind that a SWAT team might use.

" _Two APCs, three armored vans, and four trucks. Based on previous encounters, we're anticipating upwards of twenty hostiles, at least. I would expect at least a full squad of ADVENT, officer included, per APC. Furthermore, the probability of alien or mechanical contact is high, so be prepared for anything._ "

Surge winced. That was a _lot_ of ADVENT.

"And our local allies?" Monsoon asked calmly.

" _Ten men,_ " Central replied. " _Unfortunately, we couldn't equip them with any explosives strong enough to put down an armored vehicle. From what I've been told, eight of them are standard infantry types, one is a sniper, and the last is a heavy gunner._ "

"Ten men," Monsoon repeated. "That definitely evens the odds a bit. What else can you tell us?"

" _Sending you a picture of the ambush site now._ "

The holographic image changed to a bird's eye view of a long stretch of a two-lane highway, running north-to-south through the desert. To the west, there was nothing but sand, although if you went far enough you would eventually reach the cities along the Nile River. And to the east, there was a series of rocky hills, with several outcroppings of granite and sandstone, and a few scattered trees and hardy shrubs.

" _Unless ADVENT decides to turn around for some reason and waste a ton of fuel, they're guaranteed to pass through this spot,_ " Central explained. " _Intelligence determined that this would be the ideal ambush location. Local reinforcements are already in position. Once you arrive in around five minutes, our estimates say that you'll have about an hour to set up. Any questions?_ "

No one spoke.

" _Then as a reminder, avoid destroying the supply trucks. If we're lucky, this raid could give us everything we need to get the Avenger operational. Do whatever it takes to secure that material. Good luck. Central out._ "

"Ten extras, huh," Bastoli repeated. "That's better than what I was expecting. Gives us an actual chance at pulling this off."

"Don't forget," Shayu said. "We get the first strike. If we destroy one or two of their troop transports right away, that's could be more than ten enemies dead before they can even react."

"How exactly are we going to take out two at once?" Bastoli countered. "Kenji only has one launcher."

"We'll discuss that on the ground," Monsoon said firmly, ending the discussion.

A few minutes passed in relative silence.

" _Two minutes to the ambush site, Captain,_ " the voice of Firebrand, their pilot, said.

"Understood."

"Say, Captain," Thundersaw said. "I've got a question."

"Yeah?"

"How'd you get your nickname?"

"No time for the full story," Monsoon shrugged. "But the gist of it is that I led a squad on a mission to stop an abduction in Australia. There was a monsoon going on. Very heavy rains. Seriously limited visibility."

"How did the mission go?" asked a curious Chalk.

"Flawlessly. Not so much as a scratch on anyone. Back then, we were just fighting the shitty little Sectoids. Turns out they stand out pretty well against thermal vision."

"Well, here's hoping to put another flawless mission under your belt," Thundersaw laughed. "But I want to hear that full story when we get back!"

"Sure. It was one of our finer moments."

Surge realized that she had never asked about the origin of _Monsoon_ , either. She wanted to hear the full story, too.

A light in the Skyranger's interior turned green.

" _Thirty seconds, squad. Prepare for landing._ "

* * *

A man with his head covered in a scarf ran up to the landing Skyranger, a few other fighters following behind him.

Sickle was the first one off the ramp. The scarf-wearing man approached Sickle and greeted him with a wave.

"Do you need help unloading your equipment?" he asked in moderately accented English.

"No," Sickle replied. "Show us the spot, then we can share names."

"Alright," the man nodded. "It's just over here."

The other Hammers hustled out of the Skyranger, holding their weapons and cases. Sickle gestured for them to follow him.

The ambush spot was less than a minute away, and Chalk and Meltdown gratefully sat their heavy cases on the ground and began to assemble their weapons. Sickle took a minute to thoroughly evaluate the area.

"It's a good spot," he concluded with a nod, turning back to the man with the scarf. "I take it you are the leader?"

"Yes. My name is Matthew."

"Arkady. The woman in the blue armor is the leader."

Matthew waved at Monsoon and beckoned her over, exchanging names and greeting her with a handshake.

"No time to waste," Matthew said. "I have a plan in mind, if you'll hear it."

"Go ahead," said Monsoon.

"You see those yellow, reflective bumps on the road?" Matthew turned around and pointed to the deserted highway. "I think we can use those. You have X4 bombs, yes? We could disguise one as one of those road covers. I even brought along some yellow paint."

Monsoon turned around to look at Meltdown, who was crouching over his open weapon case, which contained some kind of rocket launcher.

"Meltdown. You're the explosives expert. Is that a viable plan?"

He said nothing, focusing on his weapon, but gave a thumbs-up.

"Then we'll do that. Won't be able to use more than one, though. Would risk damaging a supply truck."

Matthew and Monsoon spent about five minutes discussing their options, before agreeing on a plan and setting out to assemble their trap. They would arrange their fighters in a line - Matthew and his nine men took up a position together further up north, while Monsoon spread her soldiers out along the southern end of the rocky hill.

Sickle thought that the plan was solid. Barring the unexpected, it would work flawlessly.

But in the case, the unexpected was to be expected. They didn't know exactly what was in those troop transports, after all.

* * *

"I see them," Chalk said into her helmet's communicator, looking through her sniper rifle's scope at the approaching convoy. They were moving rather slowly, no more than forty miles per hour. "They'll be here within three minutes."

"Places, everyone!" Monsoon shouted, waving into the air.

The trap was set. Matthew's team all knew the plan, the Hammer's weapons were locked and loaded. The Skyranger had already departed for the Sinkhole, and would be bringing extra reinforcements from River and Menace squads. But depending on how this went, Chalk knew, the fight would probably be over long before they arrived.

_Still, it's comforting to know that help is on the way._

And finally, the Artifact Recovery team, made of a small armada of cargo helicopters, trucks, and jeeps, was already on standby near the site, waiting for the all-clear signal to move in and strip the convoy clean.

As Chalk waited, prone among the sand and rocks, she was completely calm. No doubt or worries crossed her mind, and the air around her was calm and silent.

The convoy grew closer. She could see them perfectly, now. Two APCs, three armored vans, and four supply trucks. And one of the APCs was leading. Their intelligence was completely accurate, for a welcome change.

...she could hear the drone of their engines, now. There weren't any other vehicles, coming or going either way.

_I wonder if that's intentional on ADVENT's part, or merely luck on our part?_

Chalk adjusted her grip on her weapon. The leading APC was almost over the disguised explosive.

"Blow it!" Monsoon shouted.

The fake road cover detonated, creating a sizable crater in the road. The explosion was timed perfectly - the force of the blast was enough to lift the APC off the ground and flip onto its side. The APC itself exploded a second after the X4 bomb, and the flaming wreck of metal screeched and sparked along the road as it ground to a stop. Even better, it stopped horizontally, blocking most of the highway's two lanes.

The first supply truck tried to brake, but was too slow, and slammed into the ruined APC. Thankfully, it was one of the trucks with a cargo container, so at least some of the cargo was likely to remain undamaged.

The other vehicles in the convoy ground to a halt. One of the supply trucks seemed uncertain if it should stop or try and go around the wreckage.

But Chalk wasn't about to give it a choice.

She took aim and fired at the second truck, and the huge, fifty caliber bullet from her Barret XM500 anti-material tore a hole through right through the truck's engine block, rendering it inoperable. She quickly readjusted and put a round through the third truck's engine block, as well.

The tail end of the convoy came to a stop as it realized what happened. The armored vans and surviving APC swerved around to park parallel to the highway, providing the maximum possible cover for any troops inside to use.

The doors of the leading armored van swung open. ADVENT had chosen to fight rather than try to outrun them.

And then Meltdown's rocket slammed into the van from above.

Chalk had been so engrossed in her shooting, she hadn't even heard him fire his Javelin rocket from behind her. The armor on the roof of the van was significantly weaker, and the detonation caused the entire vehicle to explode, as well. The ruined remains of an ADVENT officer flew into the air, burnt and shredded to bloody bits.

" _We've got mechanical!_ " Surge's voice crackled through. " _A single MEC just exited the middle armored van! At least three troopers are behind it!_ "

_Damn it._

"I don't have an angle!" Chalk said. "Thunder, you've got to take that one!"

" _With pleasure!_ " The burly Irishman responded.

* * *

Thundersaw let his beloved weapon, _Lucy_ , roar angrily at the offending White Knight, which had unfurled its gauss cannon and was beginning to fire on the local fighters further north.

The robot was tough, but Thundersaw's armor-piercing ammo punched right through metal plating, and a few seconds of sustained fire caused the mechanical soldier to spark and sputter, jerking back and collapsing on the ground.

The sounds of magnetic weapons fire began to fill the air. At least a dozen ADVENT soldiers had poured out of the vehicles, and began trading fire with XCOM.

" _Another mechanical!_ " Surge said." _Further north, between us and the final APC!_ "

Thunder got up and dashed over behind a boulder where he would have a cleaner shot.

Unfortunately, this MEC was already fully prepared, and didn't bother trying to pierce through the fighter's rocky cover. Instead, it hunched over forwards, lowering its held gauss cannon.

"Barrage incoming!" Thundersaw roared. "Move!"

Four micro-missiles shot out of the launcher embedded vertically in the back of the White Knight, arcing high into the air before crashing down on the local fighters. Someone gave a horrific, bloodcurling scream, evidently having been too slow to dodge.

Finally in position, Thundersaw steadied his weapon's bipod upon a boulder and several quick bursts at the MEC. It was still slightly crouched over, and completely immobile, making it an easy target. Thundersaw's bullets tore right through it, destroying it in seconds.

Another one of the local fighters toppled over, and someone else screamed. There was no explosion, so they must have died to magnetic weapons fire.

Thundersaw took a few potshots at a trooper poking his head out from behind the cabin of one of the supply trucks. He didn't hit him, but forced him to duck back into cover.

_Damn it. Can't grenade the bastard, or we'll destroy the crates. Just have to wait for him to pop his head out..._

" _Mutons!_ " Sickle's voice said. " _Four mutons just came out of the farthest north van!_ "

" _I've got one Javelin left,_ " Meltdown's voice said. " _Should I use it on them?!_ "

 _"Do not!_ " Monsoon ordered. " _If there are aliens, then that van has to have the most valuable items. Do not destroy it under any circumstances!_ "

" _They're going to tear the locals apart!_ " Sickle said. " _Chalk, Thunder, you two need to take them out!_ "

"Right, I'm moving up, then!" Thundersaw acknowledged, hoisting his weapon and dashing even further north.

* * *

Surge slid into cover next to Sickle, joining him in popping out from behind the red boulder and firing at any ADVENT stupid enough to try and move up.

An ADVENT soldier in distinctive red armor leaned out from behind an armored van, weapon raised high at the pair.

The _crack_ of Chalk's rifle rang out from a ways behind her, and the fourth dead ADVENT officer of the day crumpled backwards. A trooper immediately took his place, and was instantly killed by another shot from Chalk.

"Troopers are acting like fucking idiots!" Surge shouted. "I think all the officers must be dead!"

Without an officer to direct them, troopers were borderline retarded. The doctors theorized that there was some kind of minor telepathy going on, that the aliens were saving resources by only making the officers intelligent, and having the troopers telepathically rely on the officers for tactical knowledge.

Another trooper dashed out from behind the middle armored van, shouting something in Glyph and pointing her mag rifle at Surge. Surge almost laughed at the pathetic display, an accurate burst from her assault rifle ripping right through the abomination's chest and neck. The trooper flailed around on the ground before Surge put one final round through its chin, her specialized ammunition turning the trooper into a bloody mess.

Ducking back into cover, she saw Thundersaw dash past her, presumably to go help take out the mutons.

Chalk's rifle _cracked_ again, and she heard some kind of death...roar, in the distance.

" _One muton eliminated,_ " Chalk's voice said calmly. " _Two of them are hiding on the far side of the last van. I will not be able to get an angle._ "

" _Sectoids!_ " Shayu screamed. Her usually stoic voice was inflamed with emotion. " _Two sectoids, behind the third supply truck! Prepare for mental attacks!_ "

Surge glanced out from behind her boulder. If one of those sectoids came around the south side of the truck, she should have a good shot on it. The sectoids had never demonstrated an ability to psionically attack people without a direct line of sight. They would _have_ to expose themselves, however briefly, to use their powers.

Surge gasped in pain and fell onto her back as a magnetically propelled bullet ripped through her stomach, punching all the way through her armor and out the other side. Even wracked with agonizing pain as she was, her instincts remained, and she forced herself to roll into cover, completely hiding herself behind a boulder.

" _Surge is hit!_ " Sickle shouted." _Bastoli, we need you over here!_ "

" _On my way!_ "

* * *

It was Bastoli's turn to sprint up. He slung his rifle across his chest to allow for maximum freedom of movement. He sprinted past Monsoon and Meltdown, who took turns suppressing the final surviving trooper from the southern tip of the convoy. Bastoli heard something whiz past his head at an incredible speed. He winced, and hunched forward even further than he had been, keeping his figure minimized.

He eventually made it to the rock Surge was propped up against. There wasn't enough room for three people to take cover behind it, so Sickle sprinted off further north to make room for him. Her breathing was labored, and she was sheltering her wound with her left hand.

Bastoli unclipped his medkit from his belt, but hesitated. He pulled a thick gauze bandage out of his medical satchel, and handed it to her.

"Bite that," he ordered. "I don't want you to bite your tongue off."

She nodded, and he placed the bandage in her mouth. He then pressed the nozzle against the wound on her front. He pressed down, and activated the spray.

Surge arched her back, face contorted in pain. Her scream was partially muffled by the bandage in her mouth. Bastoli ignored it, and examined the rapidly hardening foam. Once he was satisfied that it was secure enough, he carefully flipped her onto her back, and repeated the process for the exit wound. She screamed again and pounded her fist on the ground once, but managed to control herself, knowing that flailing would only make his job harder, and the pain worse.

It was hardly a sufficient treatment, but he didn't exactly have the capability to perform a surgery right now. Bastoli unslung his rifle again and peered out from the boulder.

His eyes went wide as he saw a humanoid figure peering back at him. Roughly resembling a naked human, with grossly pink flesh, and sporting an enlarged head and pair of eyes, the sectoid reared back, and some kind of purple energy began to pool around the creature's head.

"Sectoid! " He shouted into his helmet's communicator. "Sectoid on the southern side of-"

Chalk's rifle _cracked_ once more, and the sectoid's head exploded into a red mist, the purple energy evaporating instantly.

"Never mind," he muttered.

* * *

A green beam of energy screamed past Sickle's cheek, so close he swore he could feel the heat even through his helmet.

"Close," he muttered. "But close isn't good enough."

Sickle popped out of cover and punished the muton's poor aim by loosing a deadly volley into its exposed head. Vaguely resembling a humanoid, bald, bipedal gorilla, the creature clad in green armor was more agile than it appeared. It swung its body to the left and narrowly avoided most of the fire.

But that wasn't good enough, either. A few rounds from his volley clipped the creature's head, and the muton collapsed to the ground, shielding its head with an arm.

Sickle had only fought these creatures once before, and they hadn't had helmets back then, either. He had always wondered why the aliens neglected to provide them. Their skulls were tough, but they definitely weren't bulletproof. It was such a glaring vulnerability...one he was more than happy to exploit.

Another green plasma beam barely missed Sickle, this one burning into the rock he was using for cover. Another muton had appeared, and Sickle barely had time to duck before it fired again. The muton that Sickle had wounded began to get up, shambling towards the back of the last armored van for cover.

A deep, angry rumbling burst from Sickle's left.

"I'll keep the fresh bastard pinned!" Thundersaw shouted, barely audible over the bursts of his weapon. "Finish the wounded one!"

Thundersaw's fire forced the muton to dash behind a rock on the ground for cover. Meanwhile, the wounded muton had nearly stumbled back into cover.

Sickle couldn't allow that to happen. He popped up again and fired a volley into the creature's back. Some of his bullets were deflected by the muton's armored suit, but some made it through, and the creature fell face first onto the ground.

Sickle emptied the remainder of his clip into the unmoving alien for good measure.

He ducked back into cover, and peered out at the alien Thundersaw was suppressing as he reloaded.

And then Thundersaw's weapon went _click_.

The muton couldn't have possibly heard it over the sounds of the battle, but immediately capitalized on the sudden lack of fire keeping it pinned. The hand holding its plasma rifle dropped down, and the other hand reached for its waist.

"Grenade incoming!" Sickle shouted, already turning on his feet and sprinting away. "Move, Thunder!"

Thunder acknowledged his order, and turned to move, as well.

The muton threw the grenade. Sickle was too busy moving to see exactly where it had been thrown, but it was definitely behind him.

Sickle took a final step forward, planting his feet and sending his upper body forward, performing a combat dive.

The plasma grenade exploded behind him. This time, he was _sure_ that he felt the tremendous heat through his armor.

He completed the dive and rolled into cover behind the nearest rock. He wasted no time, immediately popping up and unloading on the muton. From his new position, he had a great shot on the muton's flank, and his bullets pierced the creature's skull from the side. It slumped over, motionless.

Convinced that it was dead, Sickle looked back to check on Thundersaw.

...but only half of him was there, lying flat on the ground behind a partially melted rock.

He clenched his fist and swore in Russian.

"Man down," he spat furiously.

_The muton must have cooked the grenade._

There was no time to mourn. Sickle turned his attention back to the convoy. Almost everything on the southern end had been dealt with, and the rest of the Hammers were rushing up to aid the locals and help finish off the remainder, which was just a handful of troopers and the remaining sectoid and muton, both of which were firmly entrenched behind the final APC, the final vehicle in the convoy.

A purple, wispy tendril reached across the gap between the convoy and the locals. One of the men began screaming in panicked Arabic. His comrade next to him grabbed his shoulders and forced him down into cover.

"Sectoid just MC'd a local," Sickle said, his rifle trained at the pair.

_...no, can't take the shot with that background. Might hit someone else._

Sickle lowered his rifle. Even if his shot hit, the bullet could still penetrate through and kill someone else. He started sprinting towards the pair to find a better angle, but he wasn't going to make it in time. The only person farther north than him was Shayu, so he was going to have to rely on her.

Thankfully, someone else realized that, too.

" _Shayu, take care of the MC victim!_ " Monsoon's voice ordered. " _Meltdown, move up and Javelin that APC!_ "

* * *

Shayu watched carefully as the afflicted man ceased struggling. His comrade seemed relieved, and began to turn away.

And then the man began to reach for the pistol strapped to his side.

Shayu was faster, whipping out her own sidearm and executing the man with a point-blank shot to the head. The mind-controlled man's comrade turned around and looked her, his eyes horrified.

"Go!" Shayu shouted, pointing at the convoy. The terrified man shouted something in Arabic at her, but complied.

_...good. Didn't want to have to shoot him, too._

"MC victim is down," Shayu said. "Someone take out that sectoid before it can do that again."

" _Meltdown, belay that Javelin order!_ " Monsoon ordered. " _Everyone, check your fire, we're moving in on the ground to flank!_ "

The battle was winding to a close. The sounds of magnetic weapons were becoming less frequent, and the few remaining instances of them were often accompanied by a scream or grunt of a dying ADVENT trooper.

Shayu joined the remaining locals - and admittedly, there were not many left - in trading fire with the final muton. The sheer volume of fire eventually tore the creature's armor to ribbons, and it collapsed dead in the road.

Then, Shayu heard the raspy chittering of the remaining sectoid. It was leaning out from the corner of one of the vans, purple energy swirling around it.

_Not again!_

She took a deep breath and prepared herself if she was to be the intended victim of the psionic attack.

...but no attack came. Instead, she heard the dying, breathy moan of the sectoid, and saw it stumble onto the asphalt, its greenish-yellow blood leaking through several new holes in its body.

" _Final sectoid is dead,_ " Monsoon said.

And then, finally, the battlefield was silent.

It was very anticlimactic. There was no dramatic last stand on the part of ADVENT, no final pushback. Nobody seemed ready to believe that all the aliens were finally dead.

...but the silence stretched on for another minute. Shayu saw Meltdown and Monsoon on the ground level, moving among the disabled trucks, checking all of the cabins. Apparently, the officers drove the trucks, as the corpse of one was slumped against the steering wheel of the final truck.

" _I think that's all of them,_ " Monsoon finally said. " _I'll call in the artifact team._ "

Sickle came up behind her and clapped her on the shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly.

"Uninjured," she replied with a nod. "You seem fine, as well."

Sickle looked to the side. "Thunder's dead. Plasma grenade."

"...I see," she said neutrally, her expression unchanged. "I suppose it was unlikely that we would get through this without casualties."

Matthew, the leader of the locals, approached the pair. The comrade of the man Shayu had shot earlier was behind him, looking very angry.

The man pointed harshly at Shayu, cursing at her in Arabic.

"He says you shot his friend," Matthew translated weakly, clearly exhausted. "Is this true?"

"He was mind controlled," Shayu said plainly. Glancing at the angry man, she continued. "Your friend was under the control of that alien. He was going to kill you, so I killed him."

Matthew translated her response back to him, and Shayu and Sickle watched the man's anger fade. His shoulders dropped, and he simply shambled away, walking over to his friend's corpse and falling to his knees beside him.

Sickle turned his attention back to Matthew.

"How many did you lose?" he asked.

"Five dead," Matthew answered. "One is very badly wounded. Your medic is seeing to him. And what of your group?"

"One dead. One wounded."

Matthed nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that."

" _Chalk, Meltdown, you two stay on the rocks and keep a lookout,_ " Monsoon's voice ordered. " _Anyone else who isn't a medic, get down here and start sorting through the trucks._ "

Matthew relayed the order to the three members of his team that were still standing.

"Let's go!" He ordered. "When the helicopters arrive, help load all of the cargo as fast as you can!"

"What do you mean, _all_ of the cargo?" One of the other locals challenged, walking over. A sniper, judging from his weapon. "You're seriously going to let them take everything? Five of us _died_ for this!"

"And you think we didn't?" Sickle said coldly, walking over to stand right in the sniper's face. "Even if all of us made it through this without a scratch, tell me, what are you doing to do with alien metal? Do you have the industrial lasers to cut and shape it?"

"I..." the sniper stammered. "We..."

Sickle did not relent. "Do you have an elerium power generator? No? How about a place to even safely _store_ it? So tell me, exactly what good is any of this going to be to you?"

"Enough," Matthew said firmly, walking over and raising a hand. "We're aware of the chain of command here. There isn't going to be a problem."

Matthew glanced over at the sniper, who couldn't meet his eyes.

"We are not responsible for your friend's deaths," Shayu said. "The aliens are, and we killed them all, together. They are already avenged."

The sniper nodded wordlessly, and moved away towards the convoy.

"Thank you," Matthew said, turning his attention back to them. "And I know you are not the people in charge, but...this really has hurt us quite a lot. If you could convince your superiors to help us..."

"We'll do what we can," Sickle promised. "I can't guarantee you'll get any new items we make from this, but I'll make sure you at least get some replacements for your fallen."

Technically, Arkady didn't have the authority to make that kind of a promise, but he trusted that the command structure of XCOM would recognize the contribution of Matthew and the others.

"Then I thank you again. But let us go aid the others, for we have wasted enough time talking here."

* * *

**Operation Anhur's Wrath - Mission Debrief**

Personnel

Sergeant Elizabeth 'Surge' Rellick (GRAVELY WOUNDED)

Corporal Peter 'Thundersaw' McCarthy (KIA)

Artifacts recovered

48x crates of alien alloys (exact amount to be determined)

4x crates of unknown alien metals (exact amount to be determined)

6x crates of refined elerium (exact amount to be determined)

6x crates of unrefined elerium (exact amount to be determined)

8x elerium cores

3x ADVENT Datapads

1x ADVENT Datapad (badly damaged)

1x Alien Data Cache

1x Sectoid corpses (moderate condition)

1x Sectoid corpses (badly damaged)

3x Muton corpses (moderate condition)

1x Muton corpses (badly damaged)

2x White Knight MEC wrecks

3x ADVENT Officer corpses (moderate condition)

7x ADVENT Trooper corpses (moderate condition)

11x ADVENT magnetic rifles (internal components self-destructed)

3x ADVENT magnetic pistols (internal components self-destructed)

2x Muton plasma grenades

Assorted plasma weapon fragments

Assorted magnetic weapon ammunition

ADVENT gauss turret severed from APC mounting (undamaged)

Scans of undamaged vehicles registered for future analysis

Remaining intact vehicles sabotaged with explosives

**End Report**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've gone through and removed all of the chapter names that had operations in them. Felt like it ruined the surprise.
> 
> So, we've had our first death...now I can bring up a point some of you have probably been wondering about. XCOM EW (Long War version, at least) has a big roster of soldiers. Lots of casualties, lots of redshirts that die on their first mission. After all, the whole idea of the game is that, ultimately, anyone is replaceable.
> 
> In XCOM 2, however, I feel that the narrative is a little different. We no longer have a global pool of soldiers to draw from. We're a resistance operation now. And when it comes to the resurgent XCOM's main base, absolute secrecy is required. Recruiting and replacing is not an easy feat - we can't simply have the Council send us another batch of soldiers.
> 
> So, with RtR, I decided to focus intently on a single squad, rather than go through a whole bunch of people. It makes more sense to me, thematically (and I don't want to have to write 50+ characters). I feel it makes every loss more impactful. One of the downsides of writing with EW's approach is that you get very suspicious when a mission is suddenly full of rookies and redshirts. This way, casualties and defeats will probably come as more of a surprise.
> 
> Which is also the reason why I went back and got rid of all the operation names in the chapter titles.
> 
> Moving on...
> 
> This operation's name comes from a deity of the Egyptian pantheon - Anhur, a god of war.
> 
> Captain Marai's name is actually a reference, as well. Anyone want to field a guess?
> 
> Inspiration music used in the creation of this chapter
> 
> Bloodborne Soundtrack - Father Gascoigne Battle Theme Remix by Falkkone - during the operation
> 
> That'll do it for this chapter!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**_The Sinkhole_ **

Emily stifled a yawn as she approached the earthen ramp leading down to the Avenger. It was still very early in the morning, and the air was relatively cool, but she felt too miserable to appreciate it. There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes; Peter's death had ensured that she wasn't going to get any sleep. She had simply lay on her bed until the sun began to rise, until she eventually forced herself up. Emily had simply walked around the base for a while, until receiving a message from a certain someone.

_Oh, Peter..._

There was no one to blame, no real mistake that was made. A convoy composed of that many aliens and ADVENT was simply too strong to neutralize without taking some casualties in return, even with a flawless ambush. Peter simply drew the short straw. It could have just as easily have been her, or anyone else.

...but it still hurt. Peter was Emily's friend, and his absence was already unmistakable. There was no cheering when they returned from the mission, no drinks of celebration.

Just...silence. Like there was an unconscious agreement between the members of the squad to not speak a word to each other.

Unconsciously, she began to massage a stiff shoulder as she walked. As she neared the ramp, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. An Asian woman was sitting down in the shade of a nearby building, leaning against the wall for support and holding a pencil to some kind of paper. Emily approached and waved at her.

"Shayu?"

Shayu kept her eyes on her paper, which Emily could now identify as some kind of sketchbook.

"I would hope that our markswoman would have sufficient eyesight to tell that much," Shayu remarked dryly. Emily wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she said nothing, coming over to stand next to her.

"Are you drawing something?" Emily asked after a while.

"Yes." Shayu replied, offering nothing more.

"...what are you drawing?"

Shayu sighed and put the sketchbook and pencil down, turning to look at Emily. She seemed to be in better shape than Emily, but was clearly tired.

"It is bad luck to ask about a work in progress."

"You never struck me as the superstitious type," Emily said, interlocking her fingers behind her back.

"It has nothing to do with superstition," Shayu said, exhaling sharply through her nose. "The work is not complete. I had a friend, a sculptor, who was often asked the same question. Her answer, was that she did not know what she was making. The art was there, buried in the stone block. She was merely bringing it out. A sculptor does not create, but reveal, and asking that question is a distraction. It is even worse if someone guesses, imposing their own idea upon the work, and contaminating the artist's vision."

Shayu sniffed and turned away, eyes watching the sun rise over the armory building.

"She was eccentric," Shayu admitted. "But I agree with most of her stance."

"I see," Emily said. "My apologies. I did not realize that I was committing such a serious offense."

Shayu gave a half-shrug, and held up her sketchbook for Emily to see. "If you must know, I was drawing this."

Emily's jaw dropped. Shayu's sketch was a portrait of a man, from the shoulders up. He was drawn in a very realistic style. His beard was still being drawn, but the likenesses was unmistakable.

"It's Peter," Emily muttered. "You drew him..."

That was unexpected, to say the least. Shayu did not share much about herself, but Emily knew that she was an incredibly tough woman, well-accustomed to loss. She was the type of person who would likely see emotional attachments as a weakness, the type of person who could accept a loss and move on in an instant. To see this proof that Shayu truly did care about her comrades was...very touching.

"I'm glad you could tell," Shayu said with a hint of annoyance, her eyes furrowing almost imperceptibly.

"I didn't mean to offend," Emily said quickly, "It was very good! I had no idea you were such a talented artist."

"I haven't drawn anything in a while," Shayu admitted, looking away again. "I guess this was...motivation."

_I suppose we all process grief in different ways. Perhaps I should try writing something, to clear my mind._

"Anyways," Shayu said firmly, "You were heading down to the Avenger. Don't let me keep you."

* * *

**_The Avenger - Crew Deck_ **

Emily found Dr. Lily Shen, the woman who asked for her presence, in the power core of the Avenger. After waiting for her to finish a conversation with one of her subordinate engineers, she smiled sadly and guided Emily to another location in the ship, a newly excavated room in the crew deck.

Emily had been to the crew deck once before, back when its corridors were filled with twisted piles of debris. When the Avenger was finished, the crew deck would house the barracks, and would be where the soldiers would eat, sleep, exercise, and work out their stresses.

"Obviously things are about to get really busy in here with all the construction material we just gained," Shen had explained. "But my team has been working on a couple side projects, one of which we finished last week. I was hoping that we wouldn't have to unveil it this soon, but...well. Take a look."

The new room was...a bar. It was very sparsely decorated at the moment, but it was a proper bar, with a counter, stools, and cabinets to store drinks. There were a few circular tables and chairs, as well as a pool table in the corner of the room. It was rather compact, given the limited space available, but Emily could tell that it would be very popular among the soldiers and staff of XCOM.

"This is quite impressive," Emily said to her guide. "I'm certain that this will be very well-received. But..."

"Why did I want to see you in particular?" Shen finished, earning a nod. "Over here."

Shen led her around the corner, presenting a section of the bar that had previously been out of Emily's line of sight. There were a few sturdy display cabinets, currently empty, standing in front of a dozen empty photograph frames mounted on the wall.

"This is the memorial," Shen explained softly. "We wanted to make sure that there was a space we could dedicate to our fallen. I asked for you in particular because I was hoping that you could help me...well, decorate. If I did it all myself, it might come off as an insincere token gesture. I doubt people would appreciate sympathy coming from the person who benefited the most from the supply raid."

_How admirably diplomatic of her..._

"That's very thoughtful of you, Ms. Shen," Emily said appreciatively.

"Please, just call me Lily."

"Lily, then. And I'd very much like to help. I take it you already have a few ideas in mind?"

Lily nodded. "There's a spare XCOM banner we can hang up, for starters..."

As Emily set about helping Lily, she reminded herself to talk to Shayu again.

_Perhaps she would be willing to leave her sketch in one of the display cases..._

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Medical Ward_ **

Blinking and groaning, Elizabeth woke up.

Her senses were dulled from her medication, but she was immediately aware of how awful she felt. Her head hurt, her stomach hurt, her  _everything_  hurt.

_It's...fuck, it's really bright in here..._

She squinted and tried to get a look around. The room was rather small, and was very, very white.

_...the medical ward. Right._

"Welcome back to the waking world, my friend," a man's voice said from across the room.

She looked at Abdul, who was lying on his own medical bed. An IV drip was attached to his arm, and Elizabeth realized that she had one attached to hers, as well.

"I don't feel awake," she bleated groggily. "How long have I been here?"

"Less than a day," said a new man's voice, as a doctor stepped into the room. He was wearing a teal medical apron, and his face was concealed behind a surgeon's mask and head-net. "You just got out of surgery."

"Heya, Nicky," Elizabeth greeted him wearily.

"I just spent the last three hours rearranging your intestines," Nick said firmly, undoing his surgical mask and tossing it into a wastebin. "You can address me as Doctor Aquacorde."

"Was it that bad?" she asked, grimacing.

Doctor Aquacorde pulled up a chair and sat in between Abdul and Elizabeth's medical beds. He crossed his arms, and closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"...it was," he admitted after a minute of silence. "But it could have been much worse. You are very lucky that we reverse engineered ADVENT's medkits."

Elizabeth said nothing. Nick was scary when he was in doctor mode.

"The bullet passed completely through your body, but was stopped by the armor on your back. The most difficult part was accounting for the damage to your large intestine. You will likely experience stomach pains for some time."

"How long am I out?" she asked hesitantly.

"Five weeks," he answered. "At minimum. Complications may arise in the future, so you won't be allowed to leave this room for at least a week. No strenuous activity that could interfere with the healing process, when you're released, too."

_Five weeks..._

That seemed like an impossibly long stretch of time, but Elizabeth knew that it could have been much worse. The doctors at the Sinkhole were very good, and had the best technology XCOM could offer.

But still, five weeks of being completely useless...

Nick cleared his throat. "There's even worse news."

"But you said that the mission was a success," Abdul said, confused.

"It was," Nick nodded. "We recovered an enormous amount of construction materials, and a couple other nice prizes for the scientists."

...

"Who died?" Elizabeth asked, her voice hoarse.

Nick's eyes met hers. Behind his professional demeanor, she glimpsed pain and sorrow.

"...Thundersaw. Plasma grenade, instant death."

The only sounds in the room were the constant beeping of the machines and the soft roar of the air conditioning.

"Funeral is tonight," Nick sighed. "Neither of you can leave here, but I'll make sure you have some way to watch."

Nick stood up and shook his head. "Sorry to leave you with that, but I need to go see the coroner. I'll have someone bring you some books later."

And with that, he left the two wounded, solemn operatives to each other.

They were both silent for a long time.

"I guess there's not much to say about that," Elizabeth muttered, breaking the silence. "Is there?"

"I suppose not," Abdul agreed with a sigh.

They believed Nick was telling the truth, of course. But it was still too early for the news to really 'sink in'.

In the pit of her being, Elizabeth realized that the five weeks she was going to have to spend here were going to feel a  _lot_  longer than five weeks.

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Mess Hall_ **

"This all feels so surreal," Abraham said, plopping down in a chair at one of the mess hall's tables. Rana - for she had revealed her real name to him - came up and sat across from him, placing two bowls of salad down on the table. She had already eaten, but took some salad anyway, so he would feel less awkward.

_Whatever it takes to make him more comfortable._

"I just can't believe it," he continued, shaking his head. "That the resistance is  _this_  big. That you have a...a  _huge_  UFO, one that you want me to fix!"

"Not necessarily fix," Rana corrected. "The machines are all perfectly intact. We just don't know how to turn them on or use them."

"But I'm not sure that I can do that. ADVENT code is only a derivative of alien code. A really close one, but still, I-"

"Don't worry about it, Abraham," she soothed. "It will work out."

He sighed and smiled wearily. "Yeah. I hope so."

Rana nodded, satisfied. "You can work out the specifics when we meet the head of engineering after lunch. But since you've seen the whole surface of the base now, did you have any questions?"

"Not really, no. I'm guessing that I'm going to be spending a lot of time underground or in the...what, exactly was it called again? The ship?"

"The Avenger."

"Huh. I guess it's called that since XCOM is striking back at the aliens? For vengeance?"

Rana shrugged. "Maybe. I wasn't around when they named it."

"About that," Abraham said, spearing some salad with his fork. "When  _did_  you join XCOM?"

Rana tapped a finger against her lips and hummed. How long had it been now? And how much should she tell him?

"Some twelve years ago," she admitted. "I was eight when ADVENT was formed. My mother was Israeli, my father Egyptian. Ironically, both of them worked for their government's intelligence agencies. And before you ask, yes, both of them are still alive and well. Neither of them are stationed here, though."

Rana hesitated after that. She wasn't comfortable telling the entire tale in such a public location.

"I don't want to share the full story. Not here or now. But the gist of it is that my parents refused to cooperate with ADVENT, and moved to one of the slums near Babylon. I spent five years there...it was a hard life. I...learned how to be a good actress. People generally don't expect kids to be good at deception."

Abraham observed her carefully, nodding for her to continue.

Rana cleared her throat. "Anyway. My parents were both spies - kind of - so it was really only natural that I would become one, too. An XCOM recruiter found us when I was fourteen, and mother and father jumped at the chance to join, and they were taken to a resistance haven. I came along too, naturally. And to summarize the next twelve years in one sentence, well...I wanted to be useful, so I learned a lot. And I became very good at what I do."

She looked to the side, uncertain. "So I hope you can forgive me for tricking you like that. None of it was ever malicious."

Abraham pushed his salad aside and interlocked his fingers together on the table. He was silent for a minute.

"I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt," he said quietly. "But I can see why it had to be done. I...I forgive you."

Rana looked at him incredulously. "Aren't you being a little too trusting? I've lied to you multiple times now. I'm still holding things back."

_Revealing so much to him is a risky move. If it were most anyone else, they would be suspicious, if not hostile towards me. I really shouldn't encourage him to doubt me. But...something tells me that this will work._

"Just tell me this, Sa-uh, Rana," he smiled sadly.

She looked at him inquisitively.

"These secrets you've kept, the ones you're still keeping...is it all for the greater good? For XCOM, for Earth?" She blinked at him.

"It is," she answered honestly.

"Then that's good enough for me," he said, laughing once. "I trust you."

Despite her all training and experience, Rana felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

_But that's the point, isn't it? To take the shields down, for a change. To stop acting._

Perhaps there was a perfect solution to her problem, literally staring her in the face. If she needed to stop acting...wouldn't it be best if she no longer  _needed_  to act? Even with all that she had revealed to him, he still trusted her. Which was rather naive of him, yes, but she couldn't help but feel flattered.

_Maybe...maybe this could work. Maybe our relationship could be genuine._

Rana's stunned appearance slowly turned into a smile, which turned into a giggle, which turned into a fit of giggles. Abraham smiled in confused embarrassment, asking her what was so funny.

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you," she said, holding up a hand. "I'm laughing at me."

"Why?" Abraham asked, amused.

She sighed and placed an elbow on the table, supporting her chin with a clenched fist.

"Because you're actually quite the brilliant, naive idiot," she smiled. "And it's rather charming."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Firing Range_ **

Kenji was unsurprised to see someone else had decided to use the firing range today.

Whenever a mission had casualties, people sought out things like that. Ways to distract yourself, while still remaining useful. The soldier life was fast - you had to move on quickly. Best to do that in a productive manner.

Kenji was no stranger to losing friends. Before joining XCOM, he fought against ADVENT as part of an independent resistance group in Japan. His group was relatively well-supplied and populated and struck a few blows against the aliens, but they were eventually found out. Kenji still wasn't sure how that had happened. It could have been a traitor in the group, or it could have been sheer luck on ADVENT's part. Japan was a small, highly dense country, after all. Japan did't have thatmuch room to hide the activity of a major base, not with modern tracking technology, and certainly not with Japan holding one of the largest Centers of Progress.

Either way, the group was doomed. Kenji managed to narrowly avoid capture, and managed to stowaway on a boat to China. He tried to lay low for a time, taking odd jobs and physical labor where he could. Eventually, he met Shayu, who cautiously welcomed him into an independent  _Chinese_  resistance.

And then the whole fucking process happened again. ADVENT found the group, he and Shayu narrowly avoided capture, and they fled to another country.

The memories caused Kenji to grimace as he went about setting up one of the harder target practice programs, paying no mind to the other person in the range.

The  _third_  resistance group Kenji joined was Russian. That one, however, was still intact. And in fact, it was not independent, but a cell of XCOM. Admittedly, the cell was so incredibly far away from the Sinkhole that it might as well be independent, but the fact remained. The pair served in Russia for about a year, performing various tasks of dubious morality.

Kenji loaded his chosen assault rifle and began to take shots at the targets popping out of the ceiling and floor.

Kenji had truly honed his skills of explosive sabotage in Russia. But he was as deadly to ADVENT as he was to civilians - destroying the elerium ship in Yanbu was not his first time killing innocent bystanders, something which still sometimes robbed him of sleep.

Try as he might, all the justification in the world still couldn't save him from unease and guilt.

But he didn't really consider that a problem. It was penance - he  _should_  feel guilty, he  _should_  lose out on sleep. Otherwise, he would grow numb to it, and killing innocents would no longer be an issue.

Shayu disagreed, of course. Jun wasn't an emotionless killing machine, but she was very a much an 'ends justify the means' type of woman. Civilian casualties and collateral damage held very little sway over her.

...Kenji wondered what she felt at the loss of Thundersaw. It very well might be nothing, a thought that saddened him a little.

A loud buzzer went off, signaling the end of the program.

"You shouldn't shoot distracted, you know."

Kenji turned around to realize he was being watched by a woman in blue armor. It was Captain Marai - without her helmet.

"Captain," he saluted.

She rolled her eyes and waved him off with the back of her hand.

"Distracting yourself is fine and all, but we no longer have the supply chain that we used to," she said. "Look at that score. What are you getting from this? How are you improving?"

...she was right. His score was awful, he had missed a lot of targets.

"My apologies," he said, bowing lightly as his Japanese instincts took root. "I was not thinking clearly. I will refrain from wasting ammunition in the future."

"Not trying to be a hardass, Meltdown," the Captain said. "But if you're just looking for a distraction, schedule a time for the VR machines or something."

"I understand, Captain. Thank you."

"Good," the Captain nodded. "How are you and the rest of the Hammers holding up?"

"I cannot speak for the others. Some of them will take it harder than others. But...I will manage."

"Good to hear. Oh, before I forget. Odds are pretty good that I'll be heading out to Unity Hills before long. So if I suddenly vanish, let the others know for me, yeah?"

"I will. I presume you are going to train replacements for the casualties our allies suffered?"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head. "Training replacements for the replacements. Command already moved some soldiers around for our pals, but that takes strength away from other areas."

"I see."

She nodded again and clapped Kenji on the shoulder. "I'm heading out, then. You take care of yourself, now." She turned away, waving with the back of her hand as she left.

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Intelligence Director's Office_ **

The door shut behind Lily as she stepped into the Director's office. The man himself was sitting behind his desk, and Central Officer Bradford was sitting on the opposite side, a second chair for Lily waiting next to him.

These three people were the only persons in the entirety of XCOM with level one security clearance - unrestricted access to all XCOM archives and information. Together, they comprised XCOM's inner circle - a council of leadership that made the highest level decisions. Lily had previously only been level two security, but was promoted by Karim when Shen Senior passed away. Presumably, more people would come to gain the privilege in the future. The Commander, obviously. And the Head of Research and Development, whenever someone took a permanent spot in that role. As it was currently, it was simply a rotated title.

"Well, now that we're all here, let us begin immediately," the Director said. "Central?"

Bradford shrugged. Karim certainly already knew everything he had to say, it was just being repeated for her benefit.

"Our team sustained one wounded and one killed, which you already knew," Central began. "Local allies lost five, although our medic managed to prevent a sixth. We've moved around six soldiers, half from Israel and half from Sudan, to replenish their losses. And we're dispatching Captain Marai to Unity Hills tomorrow. It was good to have her here to lead that operation, but she would be better used as an instructor."

"Makes sense," Lily nodded.

"That's all from me. Karim?"

The Director cleared his throat. "Actually, it would be better for Ms. Shen to speak first, as what I say relies on what she has learned."

Lily shrugged. "Alright. We're still unpacking and tallying everything, but there was a lot of material. Literally tons of alien metal, which is saying something, given how light they are."

"Do you have enough to finish the Avenger?" Bradford asked.

"Oh, without question," Lily answered. "And we'll have a comfortable portion to spare. I already have some suggestions on how to use the surplus."

"Let's put a pin in that for now," the Director said. "What else?"

"The extra elerium is nice, although we don't currently have a use for it. The unrefined stuff is useless to us, though. You'll probably want to get in touch with your elerium dealer, see if they can use it."

The Director raised an eyebrow. "You have access to that information, Ms. Shen. You have not looked into it?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't want to know about that if I don't have to."

"A reasonable sentiment," he conceded. "If you do not wish to know, there is no current need to inform you. Please continue. What about the other items we recovered? And the unidentified metals?"

"Still working on those," Lily replied. "I'll have a report in a day or two. Those elerium cores were recovered are a very nice boon, even if there's no practical application for them right now. Again, I've got some ideas, but I'll share later. Nothing we can do with the data cache for the moment. As for the datapads, that's actually very relevant."

"Has our new computer scientist been teaching you how to use them?" Bradford asked.

"Yeah. It'll make an ideal test for my final exam. But there's a long way to go before I'll be cracking ADVENT security open. As it turns out, ADVENT's computer language is a derivative of the alien computer language. Very close, but not identical, so Abra- uh, Dr. Tannous, has to learn how to teach me, if that makes sense."

"It does," the Director said. "Any estimates in regards to time?"

"Before I have a solid grasp? Too early to say, really. A month, at the very least. My Glyph isn't great, so I have to brush up on that, too."

"I didn't know you spoke their language," Bradford said.

"I don't, really. One of the scientists under Dad was working on a primer for their language in his spare time. I tried to pick up what I could."

Even in the megacities, speaking Glyph was a somewhat rare talent. It was generally reserved for government and ADVENT business, although some commercial businesses were beginning to push advertisements in the alien language. Carefully designed ones, of course, where you could tell what was going on without having to read.

"Very practical of you," the Director said. "I could do with some brushing up, myself. Finally, what of the weapons and fragments we recovered? And the vehicle data?"

"Vehicles aren't my specialty," Lily shrugged. "One of my engineers is working on it. Says she'll have a report in a day or two. As for the fragments and magnetic weapons...same as all the others that we've recovered before. Sad to say that there's nothing I can do about it right now. I only have so much time, and I'm focusing everything on learning the alien computer code. I fully believe we could learn how to replicate gauss technology from one of the functional magnetic rifles we have in storage, but it would be a seriously hefty project. And it would help a lot if we could get a weapons expert to help."

"I will look into that," the Director promised. "Would you say it is as crucial as recovering a computer specialist was for teaching you their code?"

"No. My team could do it alone, but it will definitely take a good while longer. Oh, and as for the plasma fragments? Same situation. That tech is absolutely beyond us. It'll be years before we can even think about starting on that."

Lily snapped her fingers as she remembered something. "But, oh. Two other things of note. That turret we ripped from the APC? First one we've recovered fully intact. I'm sure having a larger variant of a gauss weapon will help when we do eventually try to breach into gauss territory. And the other thing was those plasma grenades. We've never recovered those before. I might have to sacrifice one in a test to be sure, but I  _think_  that those aren't genetically locked like their other weapons. Not sure how helpful a single one would be in the field - and I don't really want to literally throw away our only one - but we could probably use it, if we had to."

"That's all," she concluded.

"Very good, Ms. Shen," the Director said. "Overall, that is quite excellent news. Do not trouble yourself worrying about only being able to focus on one project. The computers - and by extension, the Avenger - are the priority."

"Yep."

The Director cleared his throat. "The medical team is grateful to have more specimens for autopsy, although they have provided some concerning initial findings. They report that the mutons have minor physical differences from previous encounters - they are slightly shorter and weigh less, for example, and have better posture when standing upright. I am told that it is too early to say for certain, but it is probable that the mutons are the new 'project' for the Elders. That they are being upgraded, in the same way that the sectoids were."

"That might explain the new equipment," Bradford grunted. "They never had bayonets before."

"I will update our dossier on the muton accordingly, but let us move on. First, consider the nature of the supply convoy."

"The cargo," Bradford said, nodding. "It's not hard to guess what they were planning to do with that much construction material."

"They were going to build something," Lily said. "But where, and what?"

"It is very likely that this material was intended to go to the unknown site in the Red Sea Hills," the Director said. "Perhaps that facility is only in the infancy of its construction, which may explain why the rail-bridge we destroyed was undefended."

"You actually think that they just hadn't gotten around to installing defenses yet?" Lily asked incredulously.

"It is the simplest and most likely explanation, as things stand," the Director said. "Which is both good and bad news."

"What do you mean?" Bradford asked.

"Consider the origin of this entire matter."

The corners of Lily's mouth twitched up. Even when speaking with his comrades of equal rank, Karim loved to let them find the answer on their own, rather than simply provide it. Emily was right - he was a better teacher than he let on.

"That anonymous intelligence," Bradford muttered in realization. "Ah! I get it. Whoever provided that must be positioned even higher up than we realized."

"Yes," the Director said. "Our mysterious friend is apparently situated in a position that allows them information on clandestine facilities, ones which may not yet even be built."

"Or he's at least high up enough to learn about it secretly," Lily pointed out. "Maybe they aren't supposed to know about the site."

"True," the Director admitted. "Either way, they can access highly classified information."

"What's the bad part of that?" Lily asked.

"It's going to make them much harder to find," the Director said. "The true leadership of ADVENT works quietly, outside the public view. Any 'leader' that makes appearances on TV is merely a puppet or an alien themselves. Of course, we have informants in ADVENT, but none anywhere near high enough to access this kind of information. So I can only guess that our friend somehow learned about us, perhaps from one of our informants, perhaps independently, and now wants to help us. Which I can only stress as being  _incredibly bad._  If this one person learned about us, others could as well. Either that, or one of our ADVENT moles has a very strange definition of secrecy."

"So we've got no way of knowing exactly how this person found us, unless they care to share," Lily concluded. "And no way of contacting them back. If they even contact us again, at all."

"You think there's maybe some kind of hidden message in their anonymous tip?" Bradford suggested. "Contact information, maybe?"

"None that my team has been able to find," the Director said. "I can forward you a copy, if you would like to take a look at it."

"I'll take one of those," Lily said. "You never know. Sometimes all it takes is a different pair of eyes."

"Worth a shot," Bradford agreed.

"I'll have that taken care of later, then. There is one other matter. Recall the situation with the militia group that attacked our operatives in Sudan? My agent there has finally reported in with a valid all-clear signal. His cover is still intact, he was merely waiting until he felt it was safe to report."

"Is this guy living in the airstrip with them?" Lily asked.

"No, he lives in the nearby city. He drives one of the trucks that brings them supplies."

"He should have a decent idea of what they've got there, then?" Bradford prompted.

"Yes and no. Whoever is now in charge does apparently have a brain, and has taken steps to conceal their supplies and vehicles. But we do know at least some of what they had before the incident."

The Director pulled a photograph out of a folder and handed it across the desk to Bradford, who studied it carefully.

"Half dozen jeeps," he said aloud. "Three army trucks, dozens of fuel cans, a propeller plane in the hangar..."

He handed the picture to Lily, who took her turn examining it.

"And that is only one of the hangars. My agent tells me that at least three of the six have been converted into warehouses."

"Could be worth attacking them, then," Bradford concluded.

"Yes, but if we do, we should wait. Both for more information, and for them to lower their guard."

"Is it really worth doing that?" Lily asked. "They probably don't have anything we can't get already. And they're not really in our way."

The Director's eyes furrowed slightly. "They are doing nothing to oppose ADVENT, and have supplies that would serve us better. Furthermore, they have proven themselves hostile to us. I see no reason not to attack them, provided we can do it with minimal casualties."

"We don't know for certain if them attacking us was just a big misunderstanding," Lily defended, looking to Bradford for support. "It was just the one guy who tried to shoot, wasn't it?"

Bradford shook his head and sighed. "I'm leaning towards Karim on this one. It's too big a risk to try and use diplomacy again."

"But they haven't done anything wrong!" Lily said firmly. "We should focus on ADVENT, not random militia groups. They defected from the Sudanese army, didn't they? Why would they do that if they supported the aliens?"

The Director held up a hand. "We are not making the decision yet. Their fate will be decided when we have a clearer idea of what we stand to gain from an attack. Unless that value is sufficiently high, they shall be left alone. But I will not risk another attempt at a peaceful trade. That opportunity is gone."

Lily bit her lip. "I guess that'll have to do. Was there anything else?"

"No, I believe that will do it for today. Will I be seeing you two at the funeral?"

"Of course," Bradford huffed.

Lily blinked in surprise. "Yeah. I didn't think you were going to go, Director."

"Oh?" He seemed amused. "And why is that?"

"I guess I kind of figured you wouldn't think it was worthwhile. Or...maybe that you wouldn't feel welcome there."

"Since I am the one who ordered the mission, thus being responsible for his death?"

"Uh...yeah. Something like that."

To her surprise, the Director only laughed. It was an honest laugh, not mocking or sarcastic at all.

"Never stop voicing your criticisms, Ms. Shen," he said. "Despite our differences, I honestly find it quite refreshing. The clashing of arguments is absolutely essential to rationality."

He shook his head, becoming serious again.

"To answer your concerns, yes, I did of course think of that. But have you ever heard the expression, 'it is better to keep your mouth shut, and let everyone think that you are a fool, than to open your mouth, and prove it'? A similar idea applies here. It is ultimately better for morale if I show up, and let my sincerity be doubted, rather than to not show at all, and prove it."

The Director frowned. "But please do not suggest that I care nothing for our soldiers. They are not mere tools to be discarded - such mindsets are the antithesis of successful guerrilla wars."

Lily grimaced. "Sorry, Director. I take it back."

He smiled and waved her away. "No need. And please, call me Karim."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Mess Hall_ **

"I thought it was bad luck to drink before a funeral."

Arkady, alone at one of the tables in one of the far corners of the mess hall, barely moved his head to see who had broken the silence.

It was Nick. Apparently, he was finished with his medical responsibilities, as he had changed back into his casual uniform.

"That an Italian saying?" Arkady asked disinterestedly, turning back to his bottle of beer. Nick walked over and sat down at his side of the table, two seats over. He interlocked his fingers and focused his attention on the wall.

"No," he said, his tone somewhere between subdued and irritated. "Just proper manners."

Arkady shrugged. "Thunder would be offended if we  _didn't_  drink at his funeral."

Nick cracked a half-smile and exhaled sharply. "He probably would."

Arkady took a drink of his beer and swallowed. As a minute passed in silence, Nick stiffened up and rolled his shoulders around.

"How's Surge?" Arkady asked after a while, each man looking in a different direction.

"Could have been much worse," Nick sighed. "But she'll be out for five weeks, at least. Mag round ripped a sizable hole through her insides. Took a while to patch up."

"Not too bad," Arkady agreed.

They were silent for another minute. The two men watched people file around outside. It was late in the evening, the sun was beginning to set, and preparations for the funeral would be finished soon.

XCOM funerals were a relatively simple matter. Operatives were allowed to list preferences for their funeral in the event of their death, to adhere with whatever religious or personal beliefs they might have. But in the end, the neccesity for secrecy and brevity trumped all. Most funerals were cremations, simply due to a lack of space - or bodies. When the Avenger was finally made operational, it was practically guaranteed that you would be cremated if you died.

Thundersaw was no exception. The doctors had analyzed his remains for any useful information regarding a plasma grenade's effects on the body, and then incinerated them. Thundersaw wasn't a religious man, but did have two requests. First, asking that they 'don't mope around like a bunch of lazy shites', and second that they find some kind of practical use for his remains, if possible.

...if only Pete could have known what they came up with. He would have loved it.

The silence stretched on a while longer.

"You know it's not your fault, right?" Arkady said dryly, taking another drink.

"Hm?" Nick turned to look at him.

"That Pete died."

"Of course I know that," Nick huffed, rolling his eyes. "I can't treat a fucking plasma grenade. Nobody did anything wrong. The only thing we could have done was to kill the muton sooner. Why did you feel the need to point that out?"

Arkady shrugged. "Just checking. You medics always seem to think that every death is on your hands."

Outside the window, Emily walked past and did a double-take as she noticed the pair. She beckoned them outside, and then walked out of view.

"Guess it's time to go," Arkady sighed, picking up his drink. He started to mosey over to the exit door, but stopped when he realized that Nick was not following him.

"You coming?"

"Yeah." Nick nodded and stood up, but made a quick detour to the kitchen before joining Arkady. When he rejoined him, he was holding a beer of his own.

Arkady arched an eyebrow.

"To hell with it," Nick shrugged. "Let's drink for Pete's sake."

Without opening his mouth, Arkady laughed once, and the pair headed outside to meet up with the other members of their squad.

* * *

**_Egyptian Wilderness - Half of a mile north of the Sinkhole_ **

A few minutes walk from the XCOM base, around thirty or so people were gathered at the foot of a small hill. A few flat rocks that served as benches were arranged in a circle around a stone fire pit, which was containing a comfortably intense blaze. The moon was full, and provided ample illumination when combined with the campfire, despite the lack of electric lighting.

All the healthy members of Hammer squad were present, the Retter sisters, Emilia and Hamid, as well as Central Officer Bradford, Captain Marai, Chief Engineer Shen, Intelligence Director Karim, and a few other people - various base personnel and soldiers from other squads. Thundersaw was a boisterous, well-known individual around the base, so it was only natural for his funeral to have a relatively large turnout.

Most of the attendees were quietly moving about and mingling with each other. Some of them had various alcoholic drinks, or were just making do with their water canteens. Emily and Nick were fiddling with some kind of camera mounted on a tripod. That was Nick's solution to Abdul and Elizabeth's immobility - they could watch and listen in from their beds, at least.

The Retter sisters were huddled together on one of the rock benches, with Morgan being small enough to pull up her legs and hug her knees, her feet not touching the ground. Selena was hunched forward, fingers interlocked and held between her thighs.

"I can't believe he's really gone," Selena mumbled. "Just like that. We saw him yesterday, even..."

Morgan said nothing, and pulled her legs in closer. On the other side of the camp, Emily and Shayu were talking about something. Shayu noticed Selena's gaze, and gave her a brief nod before turning her attention back to Emily.

"I saw it happen, Selly," Morgan mumbled.

"Saw what?" Selena tilted her head to look at Morgan, who's eyes were trained on the ground.

"I was in the command center," she said distantly. "I was watching the armor cameras. I..."

Morgan gulped and took a deep breath through her nostrils. When she spoke again, her voice was tinged with desperation.

"I'm trying  _really_  hard not to ruin this," she croaked.

Selena straightened her posture and hooked an arm around her younger sibling, pulling her in close.

"You're doing a good job," Selena soothed, stroking Morgan's head. "You know he wouldn't want us to be sad."

Morgan hummed something in vague agreement, and said no more. As a minute went by, a few more people strolled up to the campfire. One of them went to talk with Central about something. After nodding a few times, he held a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Alright, everybody," he said firmly, drawing the attention of the attendees. "I've got a few things to say, and then we'll start."

The hushed conversations around the campfire died out.

"First," Central said, turning and gesturing at Lily, "The engineering team finished a section of the Avenger's crew deck. Thundersaw would have been glad to know that we now have a proper bar - and a section of the room is dedicated to a memorial space, to honor our fallen. There's a picture wall, and a display cabinet, if anyone has any items they want to place in it."

Appreciative murmurings echoed around the campsite, the reveal of the good news dampened by the context.

"I know it's not much," Central continued, "But it's the best we can do. Also...Thundersaw had a special request in his file. He said that he wanted his remains to be used in a practical way. So...some of his ashes were melted and were made into a shot glass. You can find that in the bar."

A few people laughed and smiled at that, while others simply looked confused by the bizarre prospect.

Selena wasn't sure what to think of that. One on hand, it was perfect for him. On the other...who would want to drink something out of the remains of a friend?

"Alright," Bradford shook his head, looking equally torn. "Let's begin. Corporal Aquacorde?"

Bastoli nodded and stepped closer to the campfire, holding some kind of jar. Thundersaw's ashes, presumably.

They weren't going to scatter the ashes - there was no wind. Instead, a special kind of wax was added inside the jar, which would allow even ashes to burn once again. Ideally, this could have happened in his home of Ireland, but...there was just no way that could happen. Then again, Thundersaw wasn't an especially picky person, and he wouldn't have been bothered in the least.

Bastoli unscrewed the lid of the jar, and held the jar above the campfire. He gave it a light shake, and a spray of grey ash fell down on the fire, immediately igniting and starting to burn.

"Pete was my friend," Bastoli said quietly, his voice firm. "I couldn't have asked for a better person to banter with."

Bastoli stepped back and handed the jar to Shayu, who took his place in front of the campfire, and shook some ashes onto it.

"Peter was a good comrade," she said. "It will be hard to replace him." Shayu passed the jar on, and every member of Hammer squad got a turn.

"One of the few who could outdrink me," the Lieutenant said calmly. "Rest in peace."

"A trusted friend and ally," Kenji said. "He was an outstanding soldier."

"I'm going to miss you very much, Peter," Ms. Emily said, voice rife with restrained sorrow. "At the very least, we can take comfort knowing that you died without pain."

And then, with a sad smile, Ms. Emily had passed the jar to Selena, something she hadn't at all expected.

"I, uh..." she stammered. "I'm going to miss him a lot. He was really fun to be around...kind of like an uncle."

Morgan shook her head and refused to take the jar, certain that it would destabilize her. So Selena passed it to Captain Marai, instead, who shook out the last of the contents.

"I didn't know Thundersaw that well, or for very long," she admitted. "But I know a good soldier when I see one. His death was not in vain, but he'll be sorely missed."

Captain Marai slowly snapped into a salute. " _Vigilo confido._ "

" _Vigilo confido,_ " the rest of the camp echoed, returning the gesture.

Morgan was too distraught to mimic the gesture, and had to turn away. She stifled her tears, and struggled to reign in her emotions, lamenting the fact that she would only be able to truly grieve later, when she was alone.

* * *

**RESISTANCE DOSSIER: MUTON**

**No security clearance level required**

_Jeremiah, please send this updated file through our network as soon as possible. - Karim_

**PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS**

The muton is a bulky, bipedal creature that weighs an average of 110 kilograms and stands around 194 centimeters tall. It is humanoid in shape and features, and loosely resembles an ape-like creature. Mutons can often be seen hunching over or supporting themselves with their knuckles, unable to fully conceal their large figures behind cover.

Muton physiology is very durable. Their skin is tough and dry, which provides a natural degree of protection, and they are well-muscled, capable of lifting heavy objects, punching, charging, etc. They are designed to survive trauma, and have redundant organs, including a secondary heart that activates should the primary fail. Of particular note is the heightened adrenal system, which spikes their combat effectiveness under stress. The exact effects are unknown, but it is very probable that it increases their pain resistance, reflex time, and more. This effect is even seemingly contagious to nearby mutons. Mutons carry a kind of respirator, attached to their mouths at all times, which seemingly exacerbates this response, as green puffs of gas can be seen when in combat.

Mutons are unique among the alien species in that they are not genetic clones of each other. An individual muton sports differing tatoos and ritualistic scarring, suggesting that this species is not grown in a vat, but born and raised in some primitive, war-centric society.

* * *

**EQUIPMENT AND TACTICS**

The mutons fulfill the role of an infantry footsoldier for the aliens. They are more effective than ADVENT soldiers, but less expendable, and their presence indicates alien activity of a higher priority.

Mutons are equipped with a sturdy green suit of armor that covers their entire body, minus the head, and weighs around 33 kilograms. Their armor is not bulletproof, but it is highly resistant, and most small arms fire will struggle to penetrate. The armor at the chest level is particularly thick, while the joints near the knees and elbows are relatively thin in comparison.

While the mutons of the initial invasion carried rifles that fired 'bolts' of plasma, modern mutons have updated their arsenal, and now carry plasma 'beam' rifles. Plasma beams are slightly weaker than plasma bolts, and require a second to charge, but are vastly more accurate. Plasma beams are fully capable of killing even an armored soldier in a single shot, although victims have survived shots to the legs and arms.

A beam rifle glows briefly and makes a distinctive sound while it charges, potentially revealing the user's position, but this should not be relied upon. A plasma beam travels at incredibly high speeds, and is nearly impossible to dodge once fired. Mutons have demonstrated consistently good aim, and are not to be underestimated.

**NOTE: As of May 16, 2033, mutons have been encountered with bayonets fixed to the bottom of their beam rifles. Close quarters combat is heavily discouraged against mutons.**

Finally, mutons carry a single plasma grenade, and have demonstrated an ability to accurately throw them at least forty meters. The grenade's radius is admittedly quite small, at about five meters, but there is no distinction between the casualty casuing radius and the killing radius. The grenade functions similar in function to a high-explosive grenade, albeit with tremendously increased power. The heat-based explosion of the grenade is capable of melting or disintegrating solid rock, metal, and wood, and is devastating to the human body, regardless of armor.

Plasma grenades are almost universally lethal. Every attempt should be made to dodge before the grenade lands, or to simply kill the muton before it can throw one. A grenade's timer seems to be about seven seconds, but this is either variable, or mutons can 'cook' their grenades. Any muton attempting to cook a grenade should generally be a target of the highest priority.

Mutons have a limited intelligence and are capable of squad-based tactics. They can utilize cover, supress and prioritize enemy targets, and provide overwatch fire, all in coordination with other mutons. However, their ability to coordinate with other aliens and ADVENT seems inferior in comparison.

It is unknown if mutons are capable of speech, even in Glyph. Their roars to each other may serve as a supreme form of instinctual communication.

Mutons are bold, even reckless, creatures, and rarely fall back unless losing heavily. Mutons can generally be expected to try and push forward aggressively. Furthermore, they often attempt intimidation tactics, pounding their chests and roaring battle cries. It is unknown if mutons are susceptible to fear, and it is recommended to simply ignore their attempts, as it often makes them an easier target for a few brief seconds.

Mutons generally rank among the highest priority targets in combat, after sectoids and ADVENT officers.

* * *

**METHODS OF ELIMINATION**

The muton's most glaring weakness is the head, which lacks any sort of helmet. A muton's skull is thick, but by no means bulletproof, and even small firearms like pistols are capable of killing a muton with a well-placed headshot or two. Mutons seem to be aware of this fact, however, and have often been seen covering their heads with their arms.

Explosives are highly effective against mutons, although most fragmentation grenades struggle to penetrate the muton's armor. While a stray shard may pierce the head, this should not be relied upon. Furthermore, armor-piercing ammunition is highly effective, and should be used whenever possible.

**NOTE: As of May 16, 2033, muton specimens have been observed with physical differences between them and their counterparts in the initial invasion. They are generally sporting more agile and less bulky bodies, and their head appears to have increased in size. It is probable that the mutons are undergoing a 'forced evolution' similar to the sectoid. Even further caution is recommended when dealing with this species, as they may demonstrate unexpected new abilities or intelligence.**

* * *

A/N: This chapter took a little bit longer to get out than I expected. And yes, that was Shayu's first name back there. I admit, I can't even remember what I put for her name in the character creator - I just put something down as a template. I'll update it accordingly at some point in the future (I also plan to add Captain Marai).

Chapter Seventeen should come soon, and it is going to conclude an arc. After that, I'm going to have to do a good bit of planning, so Chapter Eighteen might take a while. We will see.

Inspiration music used in the creation of this chapter

Undertale Soundtrack - It's Raining Somewhere Else - Throughout. Provided a general sort of sadness and loss to help write.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Hello, everyone. It's been a while since the last chapter. Also, there seemed to have been some kind of malfunction with the automated message when I uploaded chapter 16, so there's a chance you might have missed it. As for the reason why this chapter was so late...well, I actually have a good bit to talk about, so I'll save the wall of text for after the chapter.

Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Arkady could have sworn that every time his mind brought him back here, it always felt a little colder than the last time.

He was standing in the dead husk of a city. Dozens of cars, long abandoned, lined the streets, blocking most of the road. There was light snowfall, slowly masking the imprints of a passing deer. The multistory, red-bricked apartment buildings were in various states of decay, some missing large chunks of the walls. Even now, some nineteen years later, Arkady could still see some of the singed bricks and scorch marks.

Not that time mattered within a dream.

This place had been his home, once. Now, it was just the ghost of a memory. The city was dead. Everyone who had lived was dead or gone. Even before the aliens arrived, it wasn't a thriving city. People living there - himself included - were often stuck, hopeless. Arkady could remember feeling like nothing in his hometown would ever change.

And the invaders came, and proved him wrong. Their spacecraft had strafed the city, firing massive bolts of plasma at the defenseless inhabitants below. They had dropped their abduction pods, immobilizing people with their green miasma. A thousand or so died to the initial bombardment, two thousand to the fires it caused. Many bodies were never found. They were never sure how many had been taken by the invaders, and how many were simply lost to the flames and chaos.

His hometown was small. Over half of the population was killed or abducted, in a single day. Change had come to the city - but not in the way that Arkady had hoped for.

In a way, the invaders had almost done him a favor in that way. At last, he had purpose, finally forced out of his stagnation.

_Revenge_.

Years before learning of XCOM, Arkady had resolved himself to fight back, to rid the world of the invaders. That was why Arkady calmly allowed his lucid dream - his memory of a dead city - to take him where it would. Seeing this again only strengthened his resolve.

As Arkady slowly walked along the snow-covered streets, not heading to any particular destination, he reflected on the events that brought him here. He remembered crawling out of the basement of his workplace, having stayed underground, alone, for the entirety of the bombardment. He remembered making his way towards his home. The flames were still burning in some areas - the crackling flames reflected even now, here in his dream.

He remembered the stench of it all. Even now, having seen and dealt death in all sorts of ways, nothing compared. Remnants of the abduction gas, perhaps. He remembered finding a burnt corpse lying on the street, restrained in some kind of green moss. An abduction victim that the aliens had forgotten to retrieve, burnt alive in the alien's cocoon. He remembered reaching his parent's home, only to find the building reduced to a burnt pile of rubble. He remembered crying for a while.

When the Russian military finally arrived, he went into a van along with many other of the survivors, and he was taken to another, larger city. Years later, he had learned that it was not the military who had put a stop to the alien's terror attack, but the original XCOM. He didn't show it, but Arkady was glad to be with XCOM. It felt like repaying a debt.

As he rounded the corner, he realized where he had been unconsciously heading - his old home. The burnt abduction victim was missing from his usual spot.

That gave him pause. In the many times that he had had this dream, the city had always been identical. Why had something - and such an oddly specific detail, too - changed now? Arkady shrugged and chalked it up to the whims of his unconsciousness.

Arkady wondered if the building was still standing, back in the waking world. He doubted he would ever see it again. Even if it was, there was no reason to go back. His family was gone.

...there was nothing left for him in this dream. It was time to wake up. He needed to ensure that he wouldn't lose any more of his family.

As the dream began to fade, Arkady could swear he saw someone standing amidst the ruins of his old home. A tall, pale figure, watching him intensely. It had poor posture, and was gripping a broken wall for support.

The figure raised a hand, pointing at him. Before he could react, his brain pulled him out of sleep, and he found himself staring up at his bunk, covered in sweat.

* * *

**_The Avenger - Bridge_ **

"We've been at this for quite a while," Abraham sighed, pushing his wheeled chair backwards. He stretched his arms out behind his head, leaning back and cradling his head with his hands. He glanced over towards Lily, who was still staring intently at the screen of her laptop computer. The two were alone in the bridge of the Avenger, working on learning the alien computer code.

"Let's take a break for lunch," he suggested.

"Hm?" Lily hummed, breaking out of her concentration. "Oh, sure. Can you eat ham?"

Lily pushed away from her chair and got up, reaching over to the two paper bags she had placed on the fold-up table the two were using. She pushed one towards Abraham, and pulled an apple, a ham sandwich, and a granola bar out of her own bag.

"I can, yes. I was never the religious sort."

"Alright," Lily nodded. "It's probably a huge downgrade from what you're used to, but this is what passes for a pretty good lunch around here."

"I imagine you don't have easy access to animal farms," Abraham muttered, taking his food out. "Thanks for the food."

"Figured you'll find it easier to teach when you're more comfortable," Lily shrugged. "I've been wondering about that, actually. What was daily life in Babylon like?"

"Such a broad question," Abraham sighed, putting his food down and crossing his arms. "Where to start?"

He rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking.

"Hmm...well, I guess I would say that it was very comfortable. Very convenient. For an example, I've always struggled with mornings. Having a computer that lives inside your home makes them quite a lot easier. Menial tasks - making coffee, adjusting the temperature of the room, turning the shower on, opening the blinds. Small things. But it adds up."

Abraham tilted his head to the side. "I confess that I must have gotten used to it. I've been finding some difficulty falling asleep."

"I doubt that's just because of our beds," Lily commented after swallowing a bite of apple. "Welcome to the reality for people who reject ADVENT. How are you getting used to it?"

"Slowly," Abraham admitted. "This has all happened so fast. Rana has helped a great deal, however. She's been filling me in on how things work around here."

"She's the one who convinced you to defect, right? I guess I'd have thought you might have some trust issues with her. Learning that she was a secret agent, basically."

"We...have an understanding."

Lily didn't know much about Rana, so she let the subject drop.

"Anyway," Abraham said, adjusting his position in his chair, "the entire city was like that. Very convenient. Automated cars, automated police, automated everything. It was all designed to free people from insignificant tasks. Tell me, have you ever seen Star Trek?"

Lily recognized the name, but shook her head.

"An old television show, old even before we were born. The concept was about this spaceship crew that went around the galaxy, encountering interesting cultures and creatures and whatnot. Anyway, in that universe, humanity had reached the point in technology where  _everything_  could be automated. There was one hundred percent unemployment - and that was a  _good_  thing. Nobody worked because nobody had to. Money, ironically, had no value. Everyone had everything that they needed provided for them by automation and convenience."

"I think that Babylon - no, all the megacities - are the first step towards that sort of utopia. And now, looking back, I realize how foolish it was to think that the aliens were being benign. If all they truly sought was to enlighten us, to help us flourish into a great society before we wiped ourselves off the face of the planet, they could have won us over without violence. Without an invasion. And ADVENT works very hard to suppress that information. I have to wonder, why would they use such brutal methods to cover up their misdeeds, if not to suppress some awful truth?"

"I just wish we knew what that awful truth was," Lily sighed. "It would make it easier to stop them. Besides, even if there  _isn't_  some great, evil secret, I'll never accept such violent, manipulative rulers."

"If their society is an complex as ours, perhaps our conquerors are some specific nation or rogue state, a small piece of their greater whole. Although, it does make me wonder why they would go to such an extent," Abraham said in contemplation. "It's so expensive. For them, I mean. So many resources brought in from off-world. They reduce their construction costs with automated workers, true, but the sheer  _scale_  of their projects are staggering. I cannot comprehend any possibility that lacks the funding and resources of a massive empire, which would defeat my earlier idea."

"The megacities are just one thing, though," Lily said. "I'm curious as to why their genetic therapy clinics even exist. Why would they want to prolong our lives, remove our diseases? To use us as a slave labor force? If that was their plan, why would they use robotic workers to build those clinics for us in the first place, when their automated technology is so advanced? Maybe they just want worshipers?"

"Perhaps we are looking at this from the wrong angle," Abraham suggested. "Perhaps their culture is extremely utilitarian. It's likely that the Elder aliens have a very long lifespan. Maybe they see these efforts as just some kind of long-term investment, that the ends justify the means. Or perhaps they are a collectivist group, and cannot comprehend individual rights."

"Maybe," Lily agreed. "I guess all we can do is speculate. And, hey. For what it's worth, I think you're a pretty good conversation partner."

"Even if you did get all spoiled by living in their cities," she joked.

"Yes, I think I must come off as rather sheltered. I shall try to create a new reputation for myself," Abraham said with a smile.

" _Chief Engineer Shen to the Director's office,_ " the computerized voice of Haji declared through the newly installed loudspeaker in the bridge's ceiling. " _Chief Engineer Shen to the Director's office._ "

"Guess we'll have to work on this later," Lily shrugged, packing her food away and closing her laptop.

"I'll still be here, I think," Abraham said, stretching again. "Unless you're going to be busy for several hours."

"Doubt it. I'll probably be back within an hour or so."

"Alright. I'll see you later, then."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Intelligence Director's Office_ **

As Lily entered Karim's office, he stood up from his chair and clasped his hands behind his back. Bradford was already there, of course, and he nodded at Lily after she closed the door.

"Ms. Shen," Karim greeted.

"You know, if you want me to call you Karim," Lily said. "It's only fair that you call me by name, too."

"Fair enough. Lily it is," Karim smiled. "Let's get right to business, then."

He cleared his throat. "A local cell has determined the position of the alien facility in the Red Sea Hills. I believe we should raid it, as soon as possible."

Bradford seemed unsurprised - Karim had already told him, no doubt.

"Just like that?" Lily asked incredulously. "I thought we were going to wait and scout it out more."

"Preliminary reconnaissance has revealed that the facility is both isolated and only partially constructed. I believe we should strike now, before they can further shore up their defenses."

"Alright," Lily said with a nod. "I mean, I'm no tactical expert. I don't really think you need my opinion on this."

"You still deserve to know and have a say," Bradford said. "That's how XCOM is run."

"Yep," Lily said, nodding in agreement. "Good ol' democracy. Just one question, I guess. This is a really important facility to the aliens, right? If we destroy it, we should probably expect some sort of retaliation, right?"

"Probably," Bradford said. "But we think it's worth taking the risk. We could learn something crucial there - an idea of what their real plans are."

"Alright. Well, I say yes, then."

"We are unanimous, then," Karim said. "Let us begin preparations immediately. John?"

"I'll head to the operations center," Bradford grunted, standing up and heading for the door. "And start putting a team together. We're going to need two squads for this one."

"Did you need anything else from me?" Lily asked, turning to glance at Bradford leaving.

"Not unless you had anything new. A breakthrough, perhaps?" Karim asked with a light smile.

Lily laughed once. "I'm good, but it's been  _one_  day since you asked me. No, I haven't mastered it yet. Making reasonable progress, though. Once you get past the language barrier, it actually seems fairly intuitive."

"That's good to know. I'll leave you to it then, Lily."

"Let me know how the attack goes." Lily stood up and started to head for the door.

"Of course," Karim said, taking his seat behind his desk. "If we're lucky, this could change the face of the war."

* * *

**_The Sinkhole - Medical Ward_ **

A small blast of cold air flooded into Emilia's face as the doors to the medical ward swung closed behind her. She had been here earlier in the morning to visit Abdul, but this time, she was looking for someone else.

_...oh, what luck! There he is._

"Corporal Aquacorde!" she exclaimed, walking over to Nick, Hammer squad's medic. He was standing near the reception desk and writing something on a clipboard.

"Private Mercier," he replied coolly, without looking up. "Need something?"

"Um, yes, sir," she nodded. "I was looking for you. I wanted to ask you if you could-"

"Help you learn more advanced first aid skills?" Nick finished.

"I, uh...yes. How did you know I was going to ask that?"

"It's a fairly common thing to ask of the medical team after someone in their squad is killed," Nick explained, finishing his report on the clipboard and turning to look down at Emilia. "And I was thinking that you in particular might want that."

"I...you did? What made you think that?"

Nick sighed and crossed his arms. "Call it intuition. A character judgment. People protect the ones they care about in different ways. Some keep them out of harm, some fight for them...others heal. You seem to fit that role best."

Emilia blinked at him. She hadn't considered it in that way. She just wanted to be prepared, in case of the worst. She knew that Corporal Aquacorde had saved the life of one of the local fighters during the operation, who certainly would have died otherwise. Emilia felt that she needed to match her the efforts of her friends. Selena and Morgan, even Hamid, they were all working tirelessly to improve themselves. She needed to work hard, too.

She had considered asking Chalk if she could teach her long-range marksmanship, but had hesitated. Was she good enough to do that? Could she remain as perfectly calm and in control as Chalk? Becoming a medic...was that her path to being more useful?

"Meet me here tomorrow morning at nine hundred hours," Nick said, unfolding his arms. "I'll need some time to prepare if I'm going to teach you. The accelerated course - practical battlefield medicine. That work with you?"

"Yes, sir," Emilia nodded firmly. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

"Right. Now, I have to-"

" **Attention,** " the voice of the Intelligence Director declared." **Code yellow is now active. All active members of Hammer squad and River squad are to report to the operations room immediately.** "

"Huh," Nick grunted. "Guess your first lesson might have to wait."

"I'll get out of your way, then," Emilia said with a quick bow. "Good luck, sir."

"Don't you worry," Nick sighed. "You'll get your chance to fight with us soon enough."

Nick smirked. "Besides, I need to make sure that I'm the one who teaches you. Someone else might get it wrong."

* * *

_**The Sinkhole - Operations Center** _

"Here's what little we know about the area," Bradford began to explain to the dozen soldiers assembled before him. "The rail-bridge we destroyed earlier leads to a tunnel, which runs for several kilometers through the Red Sea Hills. Obviously, with the bridge out of commission, ADVENT won't be sending any trains through. A local resistance cell scouted the area on foot, traveling through the tunnel. The tunnel opens up in a basin area between the mountains."

Bradford cocked his head towards the projection screen behind him. A high resolution picture, taken from the train tunnel's exit, appeared on the screen. A few black-metal buildings were visible below, in a large, flat area. One building was only half-built, the red ADVENT logo built onto the constructed half. There were several rocky ridges and boulders flanking the train rails as it descended into the base. The basin held minimal vegetation, with only a few sickly looking trees and bushes.

"With the bridge out, the only way in and out of the area is by air. Unfortunately, this is the only picture of the area we have, as the scouts were prioritizing avoiding detection."

"A question," Chalk said, holding up a palm. Bradford nodded at her, signaling her to speak.

"ADVENT should be expecting us. They may not know that we know the location of their base. However, since the basin is only accessible by the air, it stands to reason that would have fortified the tunnel exit. Why did the resistance scouts not encounter any hostiles on their way through the tunnels?"

"Unknown," Bradford said. "But we've taken that into account. You'll be dropping directly into the basin, not advancing through the tunnels."

"Oh, that sounds safe," Bastoli said.

"Not directly into the base, you oaf," Shayu said coolly.

"Of course," Bradford said. "The basin is large enough that we can drop you off at the edge without risking detection. It'll be a bit of a hike, but it's a lot safer than going through the train tunnel."

"If we're getting dropped off within the basin, how is the Skyranger going to drop off both our squads?" A member of River squad asked.

"Two trips," Bradford explained. "Since Hammer isn't at full strength, they'll be the support squad. River will touch down first and hold a concealed position at the ridges while the Skyranger picks up Hammer, who will be waiting on the other side of the hills. Hammer will be dropped off at the opposing corner of the basin, if possible, to allow for a flanking attack. Once both squads are in position, you're free to advance and begin the assault as you best see fit."

"There will be helicopters on backup for River if the Skyranger gets detected while picking us up, I assume," Kenji said.

"Right, which is how Hammer will reach our side of the basin to begin with. Any other questions?"

The soldiers had plenty, but none that Bradford could answer.

Bradford nodded, satisfied. "We don't know what they're doing out there, but the place is only partially built. We haven't detected any air traffic in the area, so their defensive garrison  _probably_  isn't that large. Not very reassuring, I know, but it's the best we can give you."

Bradford cleared his throat. "This is our first chance to inflict some serious damage to the alien's real plans. Whatever they have at this facility is important. If possible, keep your collateral damage to a minimum. Especially on any building that looks fully built, or any kind of computer or device related to some experiment."

"When do we leave?" Arkady asked.

"Within the hour. We're going to use the cover of night for the assault. The helicopters are currently being loaded up with your equipment. You're all free to go make any preparations you need. That includes your changing your loadout. Dismissed."

* * *

**Operation: Dusk Reaver**

**May 18, 2033 - 22:17**

**Objective: Assault on hidden ADVENT facility**

**Area of Operation: Red Sea Hills, Egyptian wilderness**

**Mission Status - In progress**

" _Hammer One-Five, this is River One-One. We're in position at the southwestern corner of the basin. We'll lay low until your squad is in place, over_."

Sickle adjusted his earpiece to respond. "Understood. Any idea of what we're up against?"

" _Afraid not. We can't even see the base from our current position. You should have a better viewpoint from the northwestern corner of the basin._ "

"Understood. We'll contact you when we're in position." Sickle tapped his earpiece and looked at his four squadmates in turn.

Meltdown, Shayu, Chalk, and Bastoli. The only Hammers in fighting condition. The thought gave him a sore feeling. Would the higher-ups fill Thundersaw's position by transferring another veteran from somewhere else? He didn't envy the soldier who had to go through that. Hammers were a tight-knit group; it would be daunting to play the stranger.

More likely, they would draw on the three rookies. It wouldn't be much longer before they would reach a point where further training would be pointless. There are some things that soldiers can only learn in battle.

"Chalk," Sickle said, cutting off his thoughts. "A lot depends on you, here. We may not be able to rely on explosives. If there are mechanicals, they are yours to take."

"Of course," Chalk said with a nod. "You can rely on me."

"Nice to be the support team for a change," Bastoli sighed, stretching his arms above his head. "But it also means that Chalk gets to end up even further ahead on the killcounts."

"Not like you were ever going to catch her," Meltdown snorted.

"A medic shouldn't be concerned about his killcount," Shayu chided.

"It's good to have ambition, though," Bastoli countered. "Anyway, sounds like our ride is here."

"The enemy may not have  _seen_  the Skyranger," Shayu said, looking up as the aircraft in question appeared over the hills. "But they might have heard it."

"Nothing we can do about it," Sickle said. The Skyranger's engines hummed and softly roared as the craft spun around and descended, ramp beginning to open.

"Let's go."

* * *

"River One-One, this is Hammer One-Five," Sickle said, crouching behind a boulder on a hilly ridge. The other members of his squad were spread out over a few feet, Chalk in particular lying prone while peering down at the alien base beneath them with a pair of binoculars. The alien base was only half built at best. There were six black, metal buildings, two of which were only partially constructed, with half of a roof hanging over the floor. Several floodlights, hooked up to generators, illuminated the area. One building, apparently planned to be far larger than the others, and was only the foundation with a single section of wall erected.

There was a small warehouse building near the ending of the train tracks, although there was no train present at the moment. The warehouse doors were closed, the contents of the building unknown. There was a landing pad made of concrete, with one of ADVENT's bulky, beetle-like dropships resting atop it. Atop the building in between the warehouse and the landing pads, there was a large satellite dish, but it seemed to be deactivated.

There were a half-dozen black-clad troopers standing guard, spread out across the buildings. Two White Knights flanked either side of the door leading into one of the buildings, suggesting that they were guarding something especially important.

Finally, there was a watchtower that went up three stories. At the top, a single figure in black armor stood visible, leaning forward against the watchtower's railing and looking down over the base. This ADVENT soldier was different from the others. It had lighter armor than a standard trooper, and had a curved, full-face helmet with a large visor. A rifle with a long barrel was slung against the sniper's back.

"Enemy shows no sign of awareness," Sickle said. "Visible enemy count unchanged. We're ready to begin."

" _Understood. Since our sniper has a silenced rifle, we'll kick this off by taking out the sniper in watchtower. Maybe we'll get lucky and nobody will notice. Does your sniper have a shot on the mechanicals?_ "

Sickle looked to his left, where Chalk was putting away her binoculars and reaching for her anti-material rifle.

"From here, I can take them both with one shot," Chalk said calmly, responding through her own earpiece. "I am ready when you are."

"We're ready, River One-One," Sickle said. There was a brief moment of silence as they waited for a reply from the leader of River squad.

" _Alright then,_ " a different voice said. " _Chalk, right? Let's see which of us snipers takes out more ADVENT tonight._ "

"Challenge accepted," Chalk answered, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Let's begin."

" _I'll take out the enemy sniper, then. Take the shot on the White Knights if they start to move. Otherwise, wait for me to take out one of the troopers, too._ "

Sickle made hand gestures to the other three members of his squad, who all affirmed their readiness. Sickle glanced up at the moon - a waning crescent, giving off just barely enough light to softly illuminate the basin. Not that the XCOM soldiers needed it, with their night vision helmets and goggles.

On the other side of the basin, about half a kilometer away, the River squad sniper lined up his shot, and fired. With his silencer, the sound of the shot wasn't audible from Hammer squad's position, and went unnoticed by ADVENT. The dead sniper crumpling and falling over the watchtower's railing did not, however.

" _Damn,_ " the River squad sniper spat.

Wasting no time, Chalk took her shot before the robots had a chance to react. Just as the closer White Knight turned its head to look at the watchtower, Chalk's armor-piercing, .50 caliber round punched right through its head, carrying on and puncturing the head of the robot behind it, as well. Both robots collapsed onto the ground within a second, sparking and babbling corrupted, computerized groans.

The members of Hammer squad, sans Chalk, advanced and slid down their hilly ridge to the one beneath them. They still had a significant height advantage on the enemies, but closed the distance gap a good deal. Across the ridge, they saw muzzle flashes and heard the gunfire of the advancing River squad.

It took the four soldiers about ten seconds to reach their next set of cover. By the time they slid into cover, an alarm began to sound from within the alien base. The doors to the building that had the two robotic guards swung open as an ADVENT officer charged out, flanked by four additional troopers. However, the new squad was heading in the direction of the louder and flashier River squad, apparently not knowing about XCOM's other squad. Sickle and the others took the opportunity to loose several bursts of fire into the exposed group.

The rear two troopers took the brunt of the fire, stumbling over and dying with their faces pressed against the dirt of the basin. The surviving members of the ADVENT squad spun around and dove for cover, but that left them exposed to the members of River squad, whose sniper wasted no time in putting a round through the ADVENT officer's head. With their mental link to their officer violently broken, the troopers seemed stuck, unsure of what to do. They made motions of raising their magnetic rifles at one group of XCOM, only to turn and aim at the other, never taking a shot.

Combined fire from both groups eventually found their marks, and the final two troopers were slain.

" _Two troopers escaped into the building directly between our positions, on the outermost edge of the base,_ " River One-One's voice said. " _Can you see any remaining hostiles outside of the buildings?_ "

"No, that was the last of the ones outside," Sickle said. "No southern or western facing windows on any of the buildings that I can see. They might have roof access, though."

" _Roger, no windows for us, either. We're moving in to breach the building closest to the rail tracks. We'd appreciate it if your sniper would cover the rooftops for us._ "

"Already on it," Chalk answered.

"What about us?" Meltdown asked.

"We're not equipped for breaching," Sickled answered. "And there are only four of us. Keep the rooftops and doorways covered until River asks for help."

Sickle reloaded his assault rifle and scanned the buildings, looking for any movement. There were still ADVENT out there. If troopers had the sense to run away and regroup, there was probably at least one more officer out there, too.

Six members of River squad - two equipped with shotguns - crept along the side of the furthest building. As a synchronized unit, four of them kicked in the doors and flooded into the building, as the remaining two clung to the corners of the building, watching for any flankers.

" _First building clear, no contacts. Moving to the building between us._ "

"If we get down there, we could breach the same building from the opposite door," Bastoli suggested, keeping his rifle trained on the door in question.

"That would only make us shoot each other," Shayu said, dismissing the idea.

"ADVENT are trapped like rats," Sickle frowned. "Best to root them out carefully."

River squad advanced to the building where they knew at least two ADVENT troopers had to be. Their squad leader made some hand motions and gave some orders, and a female member of the squad produced a flashbang grenade. The door to this building was mechanical, and could not be kicked open. The squad member slammed her fist against a button on the entrance console, and as the doors slid open, tossed the flashbang into the room.

Bursts of magnetic weapons fire greeted her intrusion, so she leaned back into cover immediately. Once the grenade went off, the mag rounds stopped, and River squad poured in. They heard the sounds of more magnetic gunfire mixed in with River's ballistics.

"Contact, northeast roof!" Shayu cried. Sure enough, an ADVENT trooper poked his head over the low raise of the roof of the building he was standing on, moving to try and find an angle to fire upon River squad. Shayu and Sickle adjusted their aim, but Chalk was faster, and her shot tore through the trooper's arm, severing it and sending the alien staggering backwards and falling out of sight.

"It might not be dead," Chalk warned.

" _Building clear! Hammer One-Five, I've got a man down but not out. Can you send your medic over, and someone to replace him?_ "

"On our way now," Sickle replied. "Let's go, Bastoli. Meltdown, take command."

"Got it. Be careful."

* * *

"Two more buildings left to clear," River One-One panted, looking at Sickle in appreciation. "Good work. I can see why you're the one who teaches this to rookies."

"Save the praise for when we're done. You can get me a drink if we're still alive." Sickle shook his head and tapped his earpiece. "Bastoli, how's the wounded man?"

" _Stabilized_.  _I moved him inside, hid him behind one of the consoles. Moving to regroup with you._ "

"Good," Sickle replied. "Let's get this done."

" _River One-One and Hammer One-Five,_ " a young woman's voice came through their earpieces. " _This is Enigma. A single dropship with enemy reinforcements is inbound on your location, approaching from your northwest. ETA two minutes._ "

So, they were finally putting the little genius to work, were they? So be it. As far as Sickle cared, age meant nothing in war. Only the ability to fight mattered.

"Understood," he replied. "Meltdown, ready your Stinger Five. I'd prefer not to have to deal with whatever they have in there."

The XCOM squad didn't bring any grenade launchers, to prevent collateral damage to the base. However, that didn't mean that they wouldn't come prepared in case of air attacks.

" _We've never confirmed if a single missile can down one of their dropships,_ " Meltdown's voice said. " _And I won't be able to fire two fast enough._ "

"Then wait till it slows down for the dropoff, aim for the doors if possible."

" _Roger that. Shayu, help me get this thing ready..._ "

River One-One looked towards Sickle. "Wait for the reinforcements, or push and clear the last two buildings?"

"I say wait. We have the high ground on the roofs and ridges. ADVENT can't go anywhere. If they come out to attack us when their dropship shows up, they'll be giving up their only advantage."

"Probably not enough time to clear both of them, anyway," River One-One said, nodding in agreement before turning around to give an order to the rest of his squad. "Alright, people! Dig in, we've got company coming! Once their doors slide open, I want these fuckers to eat a storm of lead!"

River squad shouted their acknowledgment, eager for their opportunity. As they waited, a member of River squad spoke up.

"There's no way that ADVENT could have sent a response that quickly. It must just be a coincidence, right? Something that was already on the way here."

His squadmates muttered their agreement.

They didn't have to wait long. After about a minute of waiting with bated breath, still training their guns on the doorways of the last two buildings, the XCOM soldiers spotted the black dropship approaching, silhouetted against the pale moon. The aircraft made a rapid descent, curving down low and slowing down above the roof of the train warehouse. As River squad was occupying the roof of a building in the center of the base, the dropship faced them vertically, and they did not have a line of fire to both doors.

"Open fire!" River One-One shouted as the dropship doors slid back. The passengers inside were not yet visible. Meltdown fired his Stinger Five, the missile hissing forward as it rushed towards the aircraft. Deterred, the dropship tried to close its doors and lift back into the sky, but the missile was too fast to be completely avoided. The missile explosion was partially blocked by a half-closed door, but it was enough to violently rock the aircraft, sending a screaming ADVENT officer tumbling out the other side and falling three stories to her death. The dropship wobbled unsteadily in the air, but was clearly not destroyed.

" _Contact coming out of the closest building to you, River squad!_ " Shayu's voice said. " _Grenade in his hand!_ "

The ADVENT officer dashing out of the doorway pitched forward, planting his foot and preparing to chuck a fragmentation grenade on top of River squad's roof. But before he could put strength into his throw, a round from Chalk turned his head into a red mist, and the live grenade dropped to his feet. It exploded a few seconds after, further mutilating the officer's corpse. At the same time, the dropship began to lift into the air, abandoning any idea of deploying reinforcements. The side that took the explosion was visibly warped, the tatters of the shredded door apparently stuck in place.

"Thanks for the save," River One-One said, ducking into cover to reload his rifle. Above him, the dropship turned around and started moving back in the direction it came from. "Alright, looks like they gave up! Let's finish clearing this damn place!"

* * *

XCOM breached the remaining two buildings, but there were no more hostiles in the area. The trooper that Chalk had disabled on the rooftop had bled to death.

They had hoped to find a cache of supplies to steal within the warehouse, but it held only empty crates and inactive robots. Different from the White Knights, these robots had a tan-brown color scheme. They were automated workers and construction assistants, not combat units. They made no response to XCOM's intrusion. Bastoli reasoned that they must have used up all their construction materials, and were waiting for a resupply that never came - since XCOM disabled their rail-bridge and then raided their truck convoy.

Two of the buildings were completely empty - they were nothing but shells, containing no furniture, computers, or other fixtures. The third building they searched turned out to be the living quarters for the ADVENT soldiers. There were a dozen bunk beds, crates of food rations, and a half-dozen large, cylindrical tanks, big enough to fit a person in. When the correct button on the tank's control panel was pressed, the outer layer slid upwards, revealing a kind of glass tube that held a green, gooey substance.

All six of the tanks were empty.

The fourth building they searched was the one with the inert satellite dish on the roof. It was the communications building. Or at least, it would have been. There were several computers within, all of which seemed to lack power, along with a half dozen datapads. They were all secured with more than just a password - each seemed to require the biometrics of a (living) ADVENT officer to unlock.

The fifth building was the armory, which was a welcome boon to XCOM's stockpile. The recovery team took all the body armor and magnetic weaponry that they could find, as well as the garrison's supply of medkits and fragmentation grenades.

Raiding an armory was no small thing, to be sure, but XCOM only had one building left to search, and they still hadn't found the obvious purpose of the base. At the moment, it seemed to be nothing more than an outpost, which was something that the aliens did not need. There  _had_  to be something greater planned for this place.

The sixth and final building was, at first glance, a dead end. How unlucky could they be? Had they raided this place too early, before its intended function could begin? Stopping the alien's plans was fantastic, of course, but not if they didn't know what those plans were! So, they scoured the building further.

Mercifully, there was more to find. The upper floor of the building held a great deal of computers - and these ones had power. Dr. Abraham Tannous had visited personally, currently being the only person in XCOM with the ability to hack into them. He recovered a significant amount of data - several terabytes worth - but it was all encrypted. He promised that it was well within his ability to crack, but it would take time. The top floor lacked experimental apparatus - test tubes, centrifuges, microscopes, things like that. It seemed to be purely for data entry.

As one squad searched the top floor, the other found the staircase leading towards the basement. It wasn't exactly hidden, just not visible from the entrance doorway. And the basement...?

The basement was just a simple, square shaped room. Stacked in the corners were two dozen containers. Each was made of an onyx-metal framework that protected a smaller, glass container in the center, which glowed a soft green, seemingly holding the same gooey material as in the living quarter's cylindrical tanks.

Human silhouettes could be seen within the coffin shaped containers, pressed up against the glass.

They had finally obtained their first clues - the first pieces of a wretched truth that was almost too horrifying to even consider.

* * *

A/N: So, hey. It's been, what, two or so months since the last update? Sorry for that. I had just finished my school semester, and my 'few days of taking a break' turned into 'a few weeks'. On top of that, I've been (unsuccessfully) looking for work, which has eaten at my time and motivation. But, rejoice, for all is not lost. XCOM 2 is getting an expansion, and War of the Chosen looks pretty great. It helped jumpstart my motivation to resume writing this story.

But if I'm being quite honest, I had forgotten some of my plans for this story. Plus, I wasn't certain how I wanted to integrate War of the Chosen lore/plot into the story, if at all. So, I had to take some time to rearrange my thoughts. And now, I'm quite happy with the new plan. I've decided that I am going to mix in some War of the Chosen elements. It didn't require any major reworking of the plot, and one new event coming up in the next few chapters should hopefully be  **really freakin' cool.**

You might have noticed the first integration of WotC stuff in this chapter.

Unfortunately, future updates may not be able to come very frequently. Why?

Because I'm writing another story! And I'm being paid to do it! It's an original story, one of my own design. So this story is going to continue to take the back seat for a while. I write this one just for fun, after all. Still, I'm not abandoning this story. Depending on how things go, it's possible that I could finish both stories before the end of the year.

I think that about wraps this one up. Thanks again to all of my readers. I don't think I would have the skills or confidence to end up getting paid to write if not for my experimentation with this story.


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